"Don't  You  Just  Detest  People  Who  Say  You  Can't  Under; 
Things  Because  You're  Too  Young" 


Columbine 
Time 


By  WILL  IRWIN 

Author  of  The  Next  War^  etc. 


1921 
THE  STRATFORD  COMPANY 

Boston,  Massachusetts 


Copyright,   1921,  By  The  Stratford  Company,  Publishers 
Copyright,   1921,   By  Will  Irwin 


The  Alpine  Press,  Boston,  Mass.,   U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 


Chapter 

Page 

I  . 

1 

II  . 

16 

Ill  . 

35 

IX  . 

43 

V  . 

50 

VI  . 

57 

VII  . 

75 

VIII  . 

98 

IX  . 

106 

X  . 

.        .        .        .139 

XI  . 

,  163 

2136460 


List  of  Illustrations 


"Don't  You  Just  Detest  People  Who  Say  You 
Can't  Understand  Things  Because  You're  Too 
Young?"  ......  Frontispiece 

Three  Cabins  Were  Roaring  Furnaces.  Another 
Was  Breaking  Into  Flames.  The  Crowd  Fell 
Open  at  the  Clang  of  the  Gong  .  .  .  Page  77 

Without  Effort  of  His  Will  —  for  Will  Had  Noth- 
ing to  Do  With  It  — His  Arm  Went  Round 
Her  Page  87 


CHAPTER  I 

Columbine  Time 

JUNE  as  it  grew  late  and  lush  brought  the 
great  virginal  white  columbines,  as  August, 
wanton  of  the  decadent  year,  was  to  bring 
their  flaunting  sisters  in  red  and  yellow.  The 
transformations  of  those  valleys  among  the 
peaks  are  violent  and  sudden;  as  violent  as  the 
lives  they  cradle,  as  sudden  as  mountain 
passions.  One  June  evening  the  hillsides  lay 
in  a  pattern  of  brown  and  fresh  springlike 
green,  but  no  white;  that  was  all  above,  where 
the  perpetual  snows  of  the  peaks  sent  down  on 
each  fresh  breeze  little  flurries  of  winter. 
Through  that  pattern  the  columbine  bushes  lay 
in  domes  of  dark  green  still  unillumined,  as 
being  creatures  waiting  for  a  soul.  Then  one 
night,  at  about  that  period  when  the  sun  stands 
on  the  northern  border  of  his  realm,  the  first 
novice  among  the  virgin  sisterhood  would  put 
on  her  veil  and  turn  her  snowy  bosom  to  the 
summer  moon.  By  morning  the  hillside  would 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

be  dotted  as  with  flakes  of  snow;  by  another  day 
it  was  like  a  summer  snowfall.  The  white  was 
all  upon  their  upper  surfaces;  beneath,  they 
were  of  a  transparent  blue  —  the  colors  of  the 
Virgin. 

They  are  as  whimsically  impermanent,  these 
novices  of  the  mountains,  as  young  love  itself. 
No  one  may  gather  the  snow  columbine,  any 
more  than  he  may  bring  to  young  love  fulfill- 
ment of  all  its  airy  imaginings.  When  you  have 
broken  the  stem  the  spell  is  past.  What  was 
columbine  is  now  a  shower  of  white  petals, 
formed  like  an  elfin  shoe,  fallen  upon  the  green 
dome  of  its  habitation  to  wither  while  you  look, 
to  fade  within  a  summer  hour  into  a  prosaic 
nothingness. 

That  morning,  as  the  Cottonwood  stage 
stopped  beyond  the  ford  of  Bear  Creek,  Tommy 
Coulter  stood  posed  knee-deep  in  columbine 
domes.  On  the  surface  of  things  this  was  pure 
accident.  Tommy,  partner  in  a  grubstake 
above  the  canon  a  mile  to  the  north,  had 
developed  a  sudden  aversion  to  tunneling  for  a 
hypothetical  gold  lode,  had  made  to  himself  the 
excuse  that  he  must  borrow  a  spirit  level  from 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

the  North  Star  outfit  down  the  creek,  had  sud- 
denly dropped  his  pick  and  started  on  foot 
down  the  white  hill-slope.  There  among  the 
peaks  June  is  a  belated  spring.  Tommy  being 
somewhat  unread  in  the  poets  did  not  know 
that  spring  is  the  season  when  the  Lord  of 
Life  knocks  at  the  door  of  human  hearts,  lays 
subtle  traps  for  young  and  unwary  feet.  All 
he  knew  was  that,  as  he  threaded  the  winding 
trail  among  the  domes  of  columbine  bush,  he 
found  himself  looking  with  a  vague  and  poig- 
nant pleasure,  a  kind  of  ghost  of  rapture,  upon 
the  great  white-elf  bells  and  the  whimsical 
mariposa  lilies  sprinkled  between. 

I  ask  you  to  believe  that  it  was  the  Lord  of 
Life  who  drew  him  so  to  the  ford  of  prosaically 
named  Bear  Creek.  It  is  harder  logically  to 
account  for  the  action  of  the  rattailed  white 
bronco  which  served  that  day  as  nigh  leader 
on  the  Cottonwood  stage.  For  just  as  the  team 
scrambled  up  the  bank  and  started  on  to  the 
turn  round  the  point  of  the  hill,  his  wild  soul 
revolted  at  the  late  indignity  of  a  cold-water 
plunge  and  at  the  general  state  of  being  a  horse. 
He  threw  back  his  ears,  stopped;  and  when  the 

[3] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

driver,  stifling  his  oaths  in  consideration  for 
the  ladies,  began  to  pour  leather,  bucked  clean 
out  of  the  traces.  The  snaffle  of  his  nigh  rein 
parted  close  to  the  bit.  His  teammate  seized 
upon  this  excuse  to  raise  the  devil. 

Even  the  big  sober  American  wheelers  caught 
the  infection.  The  whole  team  became  a 
scrimmage  of  dancing  hoofs,  tossing  manes, 
kicks,  plunges  and  squeals.  The  express  mes- 
senger and  a  horseman  among  the  outside 
passengers  hit  the  ground  almost  simultane- 
ously. The  white  disturber  of  the  lead  team,  at 
the  gentle  but  steady  pull  of  a  horse-master 
hand  upon  his  bit,  let  his  storm  of  panic  subside 
into  a  gentle  dancing  and  trembling.  His  fear 
had  been  stage-managed,  anyhow;  and  in  this 
gradual  subsidence  he  was  merely  saving  his 
face. 

Tommy,  who  started  to  run  forward  when 
he  saw  the  trouble  begin,  stopped  short  by  the 
side  of  the  road  when  he  saw  it  die  away.  He 
stood  there  among  the  white-mottled  domes  of 
the  columbine  bushes,  which  made  behind  him 
a  most  inappropriate  background  if  you  took 
into  consideration  that  this  was  a  very  mascu- 

[4] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

line  young  male,  standing  five  feet  eleven  in 
his  bare  feet,  his  frame  spring-hung  with  wiry 
muscles  in  that  age  of  human  muscle  when  it 
seems  capable  of  anything.  At  second  and  less 
prejudiced  sight  you  might  have  realized  that 
a  floral  background  was  not  so  inappropriate 
after  all;  for  the  clear-eyed  young  creature, 
with  one  lock  of  sun-gilded  hair  escaping  from 
under  the  brim  of  his  flapping  sombrero,  had  a 
sturdy  beauty.  It  is  true  that  his  features  were 
irregular;  too  much  jaw,  and  a  line  of  the  nose 
which  defied  the  conventionalties  of  Grecian 
sculpture.  It  is  also  true,  however,  that  his 
blond  skin  had  tanned  to  a  rich  gold,  which 
showed  off  to  advantage  a  pair  of  dark  blue 
eyes  as  clear  and  yet  as  deep  as  the  pools  in  the 
creeks  below. 

Also  as  he  posed  there  among  the  columbines, 
his  weight  slightly  on  the  right  foot,  his  hips 
a  little  out  of  line,  one  hand  resting  carelessly 
on  the  band  of  his  overalls,  he  had  a  most  manly 
stand.  It  showed  a  confident  repose,  an  ab- 
solute stillness  which,  you  felt  by  instinct, 
might  awaken  at  any  moment  to  swift  dynamic 
action.  And  the  open  collar  of  his  blue  flannel 

[5] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

shirt  revealed  a  throat  and  neck  like  a  pillar  of 
the  temple. 

So  he  stood  at  watch,  his  eyes  alone  moving, 
until  the  white  disturber  of  the  lead  team  was 
quelled  to  meek  submission,  until  the  driver  had 
begun  to  install  a  new  rein  from  the  tool  box. 
The  show  being  over,  Tommy  had  turned, 
blurring  the  picture  which  he  was  unconsciusly 
making  against  the  hillside,  when  he  was 
startled  into  new  immobility  by  a  woman's 
voice  addressing  him. 

" Young  man,"  said  the  voice,  " would  you 
mind  bringing  me  some  of  those  flowers?" 

Then  for  the  first  time  he  noticed  the  stage- 
coach itself.  From  the  open  window  section 
above  the  door  a  woman's  head  was  leaning. 
He  was  aware  of  a  bonnet  whose  red  roses  made 
a  splash  in  the  shadows  of  the  coach  door,  of 
a  yellow  kid  glove  as  tight  over  the  hand  as 
the  skin  of  a  sausage,  of  an  aura  of  city  ways, 
before  he  saw  that  a  plump  and  middle-aged 
but  pleasing  countenance  was  smiling  out  at 
him. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  replied  after  just  a  moment  of 

[6] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

embarrassed  hesitation.  And  then : ' '  I  'm  afraid 
they  won't  last." 

As  he  set  himself  carefully  to  pluck  the 
nearest  stalks  with  his  stubby  fingers  he  be- 
came conscious  that  there  was  another  woman 
inside;  a  colloquy  in  feminine  tones,  the  words 
indistinguishable,  came  softly,  thrillingly  to  his 
ears.  He  lifted  his  bunch  of  flowers  carefully; 
but  as  he  advanced  to  the  window  a  shower  of 
white  petals  strewed  his  way. 

"Only  two  or  three  of  them  stuck,  ma'am," 
he  said  as  he  handed  them  carefully  over.  Then 
again  he  froze  momentarily  into  stillness  at 
what  he  saw  in  the  seat  beyond  the  middle- 
aged  woman.  At  first  it  was  only  the  eyes  — 
big  and  deep  brown,  and  fixed  on  his  face  can- 
didly yet  with  a  curiously  intent  expression. 
He  felt  somewhere  within  his  brain  a  little 
shock  like  a  hammer  blow,  a  focus  of  sensation 
from  which  thrills  and  shivers,  disturbing  but 
delicious,  coursed  through  his  nerves.  Then, 
as  though  his  sight  were  growing  accustomed  to 
a  strong  sudden  light,  the  young  face  which 
framed  those  eyes  became  clear  to  his  vision. 

With  that  olive   skin,  with  those  eyes,  it 

[7] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

should  have  been  oval.  It  started  out  to  be  oval, 
too ;  but  at  about  the  point  where  a  wisp  of  her 
fine,  wavy,  blue-black  hair  escaped  from  the 
confines  of  her  fashionable  bonnet  it  changed 
intention  and  moved  downward  to  a  kind  of 
delicious,  piquant  squareness.  Her  lips  were 
the  color  of  roses  overlaid  by  a  morning  mist. 
He  was  about  to  catalogue  her  nose  when  — 

" Thanks,"  said  the  elder  woman.  " Didn't 
many  of  them  last,  just  as  you  said." 

The  words  brought  him  to  action  with  a  jerk. 
I  am  not  sure  but  that  for  his  coat  of  tan  you 
might  have  observed  that  Tommy  was  blushing. 
He  handed  over  the  flowers  with  a  slight 
awkwardness,  and  the  last  of  the  petals 
sprinkled  themselves  among  their  own  leaves. 

' '  Why,  the  idea  —  gone  already ! ' '  exclaimed 
the  older  woman.  But  as  she  took  them  she 
looked  down;  and  Tommy  boldly  ventured 
another  glance  at  the  girl.  She  was  still  looking 
innocently,  intently,  on  his  face.  He  formulated 
to  himself,  this  time,  her  expression.  It  held 
something  sweetly  familiar;  only  long  after- 
ward was  he  to  realize  that  his  young  mother 
used  to  bend  upon  him  the  same  look.  And  now 

[8] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

she  spoke  for  the  first  time  —  spoke  in  a  soft 
low  voice  with  an  accent  a  little  unfamiliar  to 
his  Western  ears.  The  syllables,  indeed,  came 
out  slightly  but  deliciously  blurred,  thereby  be- 
traying, had  Tommy  only  known  it,  her  youth. 

'  *  What  a  dreadful  pity ! ' '  said  the  girl.  "  It 's 
almost  a  shame  we  picked  them. ' '  Tommy  liked 
that  "we."  "And  they  looked  so  beautiful, 
growing  there!" 

For  the  first  time  the  flicker  of  a  smile 
trembled  upon  her  lips,  faded  into  her  expres- 
sion of  sweet  seriousness. 

Tommy  deprived  himself  for  a  moment  of 
that  feast  for  his  eyes  to  note  that  the  driver, 
having  put  in  the  spare  rein,  was  going  over  the 
harness  on  suspicion  of  further  damage;  that 
there  would  be  a  little  more  time. 

"I'll  try  again!"  he  said  shortly  in  the  big 
bass  rumble  of  his  masculine  voice. 

His  accents,  like  the  girl's,  were  unformed. 
He  was  aware  then  that  it  was  the  first  time 
he  had  spoken  to  the  girl,  and  again  unaccount- 
ably he  blushed. 

'  *  I  can 't  see  that  it 's  any  use, ' '  said  the  older 
woman. 

[9] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

Tommy  turned  away,  nevertheless,  reg- 
istering with  his  glance  that  she  had  the  same 
dark  hair,  the  same  piquant  squareness  of  coun- 
tenance as  the  girl;  that  they  must  be  mother 
and  daughter.  Most  carefully  now  he  broke  off 
just  three  stalks  of  columbine,  carried  them 
back  with  the  intentness  of  movement  and  face 
of  a  juggler  balancing  a  pole.  But  when  he 
reached  the  window  he  did  not  put  them  into 
the  outstretched,  gloved  hands  of  the  older 
woman.  With  that  same  intent  eye  upon  his 
job  he  passed  them  into  the  dim  recesses  of  the 
coach.  The  girl  gave  just  a  little  start,  as  one 
awakened  from  reverie,  reached  out  and  took 
them. 

"Careful,  Nellie!"  said  her  mother. 

The  girl's  ten  ungloved  fingers,  flower  stalks 
themselves  of  an  untold  whiteness  and  pinkness, 
closed  gently  about  the  stalks  of  their  sister 
flowers.  She  sat  straight  upright  now,  her 
navy-blue  jersey  of  the  eighties  defining  a 
waist  which  needed  no  corset  to  make  it  slender, 
her  young  bosom  curving  delicately  upward  into 
a  line  of  beauty.  The  petals  had  not  yet  fallen. 
Scarcely  breathing,  she  held  the  stalks  upright 

[10] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

like  a  scepter;  and  Tommy  thought  of  an  old 
sacred  picture  he  had  seen  in  the  cathedral  at 
Albuquerque.  Then  the  girl  gave  the  very 
shadow  of  a  start,  as  though  remembering  her 
manners. 

' '  Thank  you ! ' '  she  said,  her  grave  brown  eyes 
turning  on  his  and  again  illuminating  a  lamp 
within  his  soul. 

The  words  seemed  to  have  been  produced  on 
an  intake  of  her  breath ;  and  Tommy  was  aware 
of  a  faint,  delicious  odor.  Then  she  spoke  more 
openly  and  naturally,  but  still  with  that  young 
blurring  of  the  syllables. 

"Oh,  I  hope  I  can  keep  them  all  the  way  to 
Carbonado,"  she  said.  "They  would  look  so 
pretty  in  our  rooms  at  the  Marlborough ! ' ' 

At  this  the  older  woman  turned  and  shot  one 
swift  glance  at  the  younger.  She  was  looking, 
however,  at  the  columbines,  from  which  one 
pure  bell  nodded  toward  her  profile,  bringing 
out  by  resemblance  its  flowerlike  delicacy  of 
line,  by  contrast  its  creamy  richness  of  tone. 

Just  then  the  stage  driver,  who  had  clamb- 
ered back  to  the  box,  sprang  his  regular  joke 

["I 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

without  which  the  Cottonwood  stage  could  not 
possibly  have  run. 

"All  aboard  —  all  who  can't  get  a  board  get 
a  shingle,"  he  called. 

The  white  disturber,  at  the  emphatic  crack 
of  leather  by  his  ear,  threw  himself  into  the 
collar.  The  stage  lurched  forward.  A  shower 
of  petals  fell  from  the  stalks  to  the  girl's  lap; 
but  that  one  virgin  sister  of  hers  still  remained 
true  to  its  stem,  still  made  obeisance  to  higher 
beauty.  The  coach  door  jerked  abruptly  from 
Tommy's  range  of  vision. 

"Thanks  —  good-by!"  said  the  older  woman. 

"You're  welcome — good-by!"  called  Tommy; 
and  he  fancied  that  he  heard  from  within  a 
faint  echo  of  his  own  last  word.  The  coach  was 
gone. 

Someone  else  was  gone,  had  Tommy  only 
possessed  the  clairvoyant  sense  to  see  the  in- 
visible—  someone  trailing  rosy  vapors  from 
white  wings  as  he  coursed  over  the  peaks.  The 
Lord  of  Life,  having  laid  carefully  and  true 
those  plots  to  which  he  gives  his  personal  atten- 
tion, never  trifles  with  details.  He  leaves  them 
to  human  will  and  ingenuity  —  mostly,  mark 

[12] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

you,  to  the  will  and  ingenuity  of  his  favored  sex, 
woman. 

Besides,  he  was  very  busy  that  morning.  An 
Indian  rajah,  temporarily  much  bored  with  life, 
would  in  five  minutes  more  pass  the  doorway  of 
a  house  from  which,  in  the  torchlight,  he  would 
glimpse  the  black  eyes  of  a  high-caste  maiden 
shining  behind  a  loosened  hookah  veil.  That 
needed  further  arrangement.  Ten  minutes 
hence  a  young  gentleman  of  France  would  be 
taking  a  one-horse  shay  to  make  his  formal  pro- 
posal for  an  arranged  marriage.  He  must  be 
impelled  to  change  his  course  so  as  to  pass  a 
garden  of  Tours  where  a  daughter  of  destiny 
was  at  that  moment  training  a  vine.  A  young 
man  in  the  coffee  business,  just  returned  from 
ten  years  of  Brazil,  was  now  strolling  north- 
ward on  Broadway,  atingle  with  the  sights  of 
home.  Southward  on  Broadway  walked  a 
freshling  school-teacher,  toward  her  boarding 
house  and  luncheon.  Somewhere  in  the  region 
of  Grace  Church  their  ways  would  cross.  To 
baffle  those  odd  conventionalties  by  which 
humanity  feebly  tries  to  beat  his  purposes  the 
Lord  of  Life  must  manage  a  street  accident. 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

These  were  only  the  very  special  cases  to 
which  he  gives  his  personal  attention,  the  per- 
fect instances  worthy  of  a  connoisseur.  The 
rest  he  leaves  sometimes  to  his  assistants,  but 
mostly  to  those  forces  which  he  implanted  in  the 
beginning,  when  the  first  cell  in  the  primal  slum 
crept  to  its  pulpy  mate. 

Tommy  walked  dreamily  back  up  the 
flower-dotted  hillside  and  along  the  crest  of 
sparse  dwarf  pines,  to  the  mouth  of  his  tunnel 
about  the  canon.  He  had  completely  forgotten 
the  spirit  level  he  had  gone  to  borrow.  His  eyes 
were  looking  far  away,  so  that  he  stumbled 
upon  the  loose  rocks  along  the  trail.  And  once 
the  softened  expression  about  his  eyes  expressed 
itself  in  articulate  speech. 

"She's  a  lulu!"  said  Tommy  to  himself,  to 
the  mountains,  to  the  columbines. 

Only  that;  but  the  tone  held  the  sweetness  of 
all  the  love  sonnets  ever  sung. 

At  about  the  same  moment  Mrs.  Amanda 
Bates,  widow,  unpacking  her  valises  and  carpet- 
bag in  the  best  chamber  of  the  Hotel  Marl- 
borough,  spoke  sharply  to  her  daughter. 

"For  goodness  and  all,"  said  Mrs.  Bates, 

[14] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

"what  ever  are  you  doing,  with  all  these  things 
to  unpack  and  the  trunks  still  downstairs  and 
yourself  to  dress  up  and  Mr.  Sabin  calling  at 
noon!" 

"Nothing,  mother,"  replied  her  daughter. 
And  she  put  down,  slyly  and  rather  hastily,  the 
paper-covered  volume  of  Molly  Bawn,  by  The 
Duchess,  in  which  she  had  just  pressed  a 
blossom  of  blue-and- white  columbine. 


[is] 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  THOSE  days  there  were  forty-niners  still 
in  the  land.  Old  fellows  of  grizzled  heads 
and  knotted  hands,  the  failures  of  that 
immortal  company,  they  were  still  clumping 
along  the  trails  with  burro  and  pack,  still 
following  new  paths  to  the  fortune  which  ever 
eluded  them.  They  had  the  cynicism  born  of 
failure,  but  they  enjoyed  in  the  community  the 
tolerant  respect  justly  due  to  experience.  Such 
was  Marty  McGuire,  chief  partner  of  the  three 
who  were  driving  on  a  grubstake  the  Big  Hope 
Tunnel  above  the  Lone  Grave  Canon. 

Under  the  flickering  glare  of  their  miner's 
lamps  Marty  was  at  this  moment  pounding  a 
drill  held  by  Jim  Tewson,  third  partner  on  the 
grubstake. 

" Tommy  seems  to  be  gone  some  time,"  said 
Jim,  turning  the  drill. 

Marty  dropped  a  stroke  accurate  and  true 
upon  the  drill  head,  and  let  his  breath  explode 
in  a  grunt  before  he  said:  "Got  his  excuse  I 

guess. ' ' 

[16] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

"Well,"  said  Jim,  turning  the  drill  head 
again,  "it  ought  to  be  a  good  one.  He's  a  nice 
hard-working  kid." 

"H'm!"  exclaimed  Marty  cynically  at  the 
end  of  his  next  blow  and  grunt. 

As  though  this  bit  of  conversation  were 
working  up  to  a  stage  entrance,  a  shadow  blotted 
the  distant  spot  of  light  made  by  the  tunnel 
mouth  and  a  miner's  lamp  became  visible,  bob- 
bing larger  and  large  as  it  approached.  Marty 
pounded  and  grunted  explosively,  Jim  turned 
mechanically,  until  Tommy  himself  stood  be- 
side them,  the  lamp  on  his  cap  no  brighter  than 
his  excited  eye. 

"I  want  to  get  off  to  go  to  Carbonado,"  said 
Tommy  without  further  ado. 

His  partners  regarded  him  for  a  moment  in 
silence,  Marty  with  the  sledge  held  back  ready 
for  a  stroke,  Jim  gripping  the  drill  in  place. 
Then  the  sledge  dropped  from  Marty's  nerve- 
less, disgusted  hands. 

"You  want  to  go  to  Carbonado,  do  you? 
You  want  to  go  to  Carbonado !  What  fur  I ' '  His 
tone  expressed  the  righteous  disgust  of  a  judge 

[17] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

sentencing  a  felon  for  some  especially  low 
crime.  *  *  To  git  biled ?' ' 

"Sho,  Marty,"  put  in  the  tolerant  Jim,  ''you 
know  the  kid's  too  young  to  be  goin'  after  that 
stuff!" 

'  *  Hell  he  is ! "  replied  Marty,  looking  over  the 
offender  with  an  eye  that  gleamed  cynically, 
skeptically,  in  the  triple  lamplight.  "Last  week 
he  split  a  new  pick  handle,  didn  't  he  f  And  he 's 
gittin  old  enough  to  vote,  ain't  he?"  Now  he 
addressed  Tommy  again.  "What  fur!"  he 
repeated.  "And  how  long?  What  fur?" 

Tommy  dropped  his  gaze. 

"Nothin'!"hesaid. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you?"  roared  Marty.  "Some- 
thin'  he's  plumb  ashamed  of,  that's  what!" 

' '  Now  look  here ! ' '  put  in  Jim.  "  It 's  all  right 
goin '  away  once  in  a  while.  I  have  to  git  in  my 
bust  myself.  But  right  now  it's  summer,  and 
we  ain't  got  but  three  or  four  months  before  she 
begins  to  freeze  up  —  and  not  a  streak  showin ' 
yet.  Can 't  you  put  it  off  ? " 

"I  want  to  go  to  Carbonado,"  replied  Tommy 
stubbornly.  His  lower  lip  had  the  expression  of 
a  naughty  child. 

[18] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

"All  right,"  said  Marty.  "All  right  all- 
righty.  And  John  W.  Sabin  will  see  you  there 
swellin'  round  in  your  store  clothes,  an'  he'll 
think  he  knows  what  we're  doin'  with  the  cash 
he  put  up  for  this  here  grubstake.  You  don't 
expect  this  claim  is  goin'  to  back  your  little 
bust,  do  you?" 

Tommy  momentarily  took  the  offensive. 

"I've  got  two  hundred  dollars  in  the  bank 
that  I  made  working  in  the  General  Longstreet 
last  winter,"  he  said.  "Guess  I  can  do  what  I 
want  with  it,  can 't  I T " 

"It's  once  out,  always  out,  on  this  claim," 
said  Marty,  with  baneful  foreboding  in  his 
voice.  "You  go  to  Carbonado  now  and  you  go 
for  good. ' ' 

"All  right!"  said  Tommy,  his  voice  giving 
the  effect  of  one  who  is  impersonating  heavy 
defiance.  "All  right!" 

Jim  said  nothing;  but  when  the  kid's  lamp 
was  only  an  intermittent  spark,  already  dim- 
ming in  the  light  of  the  tunnel  mouth,  he  rested 
a  moment  from  pouring  water  into  the  drill 
hole  and  remarked, ' '  I  bet  it 's  a  girl ! ' ' 

[19] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

* '  Sure  it 's  a  girl, ' '  said  Marty.  * '  Ain  't  I  been 
married  three  times,  not  to  mention  Injuns  ? ' ' 

"He'll  come  back,"  said  Jim. 

' '  He  will, ' '  said  Marty.  < < An '  I  '11  be  just  fool 
enough  when  she  shows  to  let  him  in  on  this 
grubstake  again." 

The  good-natured  Jim,  who  had  been  waiting 
to  learn  just  this,  said  nothing  but  only  smiled 
down  on  the  drill  head. 

Out  at  the  log  cabin  over  the  tunnel  mouth 
Tommy  had  already  pushed  back  the  door  of 
gunny  sacking,  was  tearing  open  the  buttons  of 
his  blue  working  shirt.  With  a  haste  almost 
unseemly  he  opened  his  valise  and  proceeded  to 
shave  —  no  great  job  —  and  to  array  himself  in 
his  store  clothes  with  his  new  blue  necktie.  He 
finished  by  shining  his  fashionable  square-cut 
shoes  from  the  blacking  box  under  Jim's  bed. 
When  these  sartorial  cares  were  done  he  did 
not,  like  a  young  man  sincerely  intending  to 
quit  the  job,  pack  all  his  belongings.  He  merely 
gathered  up  and  threw  helter-skelter  into  the 
valise  such  objects  as  he  needed  to  make  a 
proper  fashionable  appearance  in  Carbonado  — 
as  three  clean  shirts,  his  extra  neckties  and  half 

[20] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

a  dozen  collars.  His  working  clothes,  his  books, 
his  accordion  and  his  rifle  he  left  as  they  were, 
thus  proving  that  he,  young  though  he  was, 
assessed  Marty's  threats  at  their  proper  value. 
He  did,  however,  complete  the  costume  appro- 
priate to  a  gentleman  in  that  region  and  period 
by  slipping  a  double-action  .38  into  the  appro- 
priate pocket.  Then  he  clumped  up  the  trail, 
carefully  picking  the  way  to  preserve  the  shine 
of  his  shoes.  Where  the  trail  met  the  Car- 
bonado road  he  hailed  a  passing  freighter  and 
borrowed  a  ride  into  town  on  the  box. 

He  had  drawn  his  two  hundred  dollars  from 
the  First  National  Bank;  he  had  registered  at 
the  Marlborough,  agreeing  to  pay  ten  dollars  a 
day,  American  plan;  he  had  been  installed  in  a 
luxurious  twelve-by-fourteen  room  on  the 
second  floor;  he  was  washing  off  the  dust  of 
travel  —  before  he  woke  as  from  a  trance  and 
wondered  what  on  earth  he  was  doing  there. 
From  the  moment  when  he  handed  a  bunch  of 
columbines  to  that  dim  vision  in  the  shadows 
of  the  Cottonwood  stage  he  had  moved  more 
like  an  automaton  than  like  a  reasoning  human 
being  with  a  free  will.  Looking  back  he  could 

[21] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

not  even  tell  at  what  moment  he  Ijad  absorbed 
or  acquired  the  conviction  that  he  must  go  to 
the  Marlborough.  But  there  he  was;  and  of 
course  down  in  the  depths  of  his  heart  he  knew 
why.  What  astonished  him,  now  that  he  had 
awakened  from  his  trance,  was  the  speed  and 
certainty  with  which  he  had  acted.  He  felt  a 
kind  of  emptiness  of  purpose,  a  vague  specula- 
tion as  to  the  next  move.  He  blushed  as  he  won- 
dered if  Marty  and  Jim  would  ever  guess  what 
a  fool  he  was  making  of  himself. 

The  clang  of  a  gong,  resounding  through  the 
corridors  and  echoing  in  the  upper  hallways  of 
the  Marlborough,  roused  him  from  these  soli- 
tary meditations.  It  was  dinner-time,  and 
Tommy's  attack  of  love,  malignant  though  it 
was,  had  not  yet  dulled  in  him  the  wolfish 
hunger  bred  from  work,  fresh  air  and  twenty 
years.  He  finished  his  washing  hastily,  de- 
scended, joined  the  crowd  of  tourists  and  ore 
buyers  trooping  into  the  dining  room.  He  had 
finished  a  plate  of  oyster  soup  and  the  biscuit 
shooter  was  arraying  the  rest  of  the  menu  about 
him  in  little  platters  of  thick  white  crockery  and 
birds'  bathtubs,  when  a  kind  of  hush  in  the 

[22] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

general  conversation  made  him  pause  with  a 
fork  poised  and  become  aware  of  his  external 
surroundings. 

Tommy  had  to  look  down  a  moment  to  conceal 
his  sudden  flush.  When  he  dared  look  up  again 
he  could  almost  have  reached  out  and  touched 
the  hem  of  her  skirt.  Escorted  with  pomp  and 
ceremony  by  the  white-clad  head  waitress,  she 
had  reached  the  next  table  to  his  —  she,  of  all 
the  world,  she.  Now  she  was  sinking  into  her 
seat,  her  head  and  shoulders  and  bust  rising 
from  a  white  and  Nile-green  foam  created  by 
billow  on  billow  of  organdie  over  her  bustle. 
Her  hands  began  to  flutter  over  a  napkin  no 
whiter  than  they.  The  rest  of  the  guests  got 
along  with  small  Turkey-red  napkins ;  and  even 
these  were  a  recent  touch  of  Eastern  luxury. 
But  the  napkins  at  the  special  table  of  John  W. 
Sabin,  owner  of  the  hotel  and  of  almost  every- 
thing else  worth  owning  in  Carbonado,  were  of 
white  linen. 

In  the  rush  of  surprise  and  perplexity  Tommy 
registered  this  fact.  She  was  a  guest  at  John 
W.  Sabin 's  table. 

She  was  speaking  now;  and  Tommy,  follow- 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

ing  the  direction  of  her  eyes,  saw  that  she  had 
not  entered  alone,  that  the  elder  woman  of  the 
meeting  by  the  ford,  very  stiff  in  jet-trimmed 
garnet  surah  silk,  was  seating  herself  with  her 
back  toward  him.  Then,  the  range  of  vision 
widening  as  the  first  dazzle  of  her  died  away 
from  his  eyes,  he  beheld  what  confirmed  his 
fears  and  ruined  the  perfection  of  the  moment. 
There  was  a  third  member  of  the  party. 
Between  mother  and  daughter  appeared  the 
hawklike  profile,  the  drooping  grizzled  mus- 
tache, the  seamed,  tanned  skin  of  John  W. 
Sabin,  magnate  of  the  camp,  upon  whose  grub- 
stake Tommy  was  at  that  moment  loafing. 

The  rush  of  blood  which  was  making  flashes 
across  Tommy's  vision  seemed  to  have  affected 
his  hearing.  Though  he  sat  at  the  next  table 
he  caught  at  first  no  word  of  their  conversation. 
He  was  aware,  though,  that  John  W.  Sabin  was 
addressing  the  girl;  that  the  mother,  whose 
pose  of  back  indicated  an  intense  interest  in  the 
conversation,  was  taking  no  part  in  it;  that  the 
girl  was  smiling  demurely  but  with  reserve. 
Then  her  eyes  traveled  for  a  moment  past  Mr. 
Sabin  and  caught  Tommy's.  He  fancied  that 

[24] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

she  gave  the  very  shade  of  a  start.  The 
prettiest  tangle,  as  of  perplexity,  agitated  the 
smooth  strip  of  forehead  below  her  black,  deli- 
cate film  of  bang,  to  be  succeeded  by  a  faint 
light  of  recognition.  Demurely  and  with  the 
proper  reserve,  she  bowed;  and  Tommy  man- 
aged an  awkward  bob  of  his  head.  John  W. 
Sabin  with  his  own  simple  native  directness, 
turned,  looked  Tommy  squarely  over;  but 
fortunately  his  face  held  no  look  of  recognition. 
The  mother  threw  a  glance  across  her  shoulder; 
then  she,  too,  gave  a  bow,  which  made  a  light 
tinkling  among  the  jet  ornaments  of  her 
corsage ;  but  it  was  stiff,  formal  and  impersonal. 
Tommy  heard  a  word  or  two  passed  in  under- 
tones; doubtless  they  were  identifying  him.  He 
felt  somehow  a  quick  spurt  of  injury. 

Now,  as  he  methodically  took  his  time  about 
eating,  he  could  catch  the  conversation  here  and 
there. 

"She's  a  permanent  camp,  all  right,"  Mr. 
Sabin  was  saying  to  the  girl.  "Denver  won't 
be  a  patch  on  her  when  we  get  her  where  she 
ought  to  be.  We're  goin'  to  be  the  state  capital 
before  we  get  through. ' ' 

[25] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

"It's  very  picturesque.  I  just  adore  it!" 
said  the  girl. 

"Oh,  'tain't  much  now,"  said  Mr.  Sabin, 
"but  you  wait  till  we  git  the  railroad  through. 
We're  goin'  to  have  three  new  brick  blocks 
a-buildin'  before  the  first  engine  has  stopped 
tooting.  Yes,  sir,  and  our  congressman  has  got 
orders  to  rush  an  appropriation  for  a  hundred- 
thousand-dollar  post  office.  And  next  will  be 
an  operay  house. ' ' 

The  mother  murmured  her  appreciation. 
"They  tell  me  you've  done  wonders  for  the 
town  already,"  Tommy  heard  her  say. 

"Oh,  not  very  much,"  said  Mr.  Sabin;  "but 
pretty  good,  I  guess,  for  an  old  busted  pros- 
pector who  had  just  one  burro  and  one  shirt  to 
his  back  when  he  staked  out  the  first  claim  in 
Carbonado  three  years  ago. ' ' 

"Only  three  years!"  exclaimed  the  mother. 

"Three  years  the  tenth  of  July,  Mrs.  Bates," 
said  Mr.  Sabin. 

That  was  her  name,  then  —  Bates.  Nellie 
Bates  —  he  had  the  surname  already.  Nellie 
Bates!  The  divine  music  of  it! 

"That's  the  day  for  the  housewarming  of 

[26] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

the  new  shack,"  said  Mr.  Sabin.  "I  couldn't 
wait  for  the  railroad.  When  that  comes  in  and 
we  can  get  bricks,  I'm  going  to  have  a  regular 
house  with  a  furnace  and  a  bathroom  and  this 
here  tapestry  wall  paper  that  I  saw  in  Denver. 
Then  I  can  sell  the  shack  that  I'm  building  now. 
We're  going  to  start  a  blaze  under  sassiety  in 
Carbonado  with  a  Firemen's  Ball  next  Friday 
night.  You've  got  to  come!  We're  going  to 
get  the  band  of  the  Little  Casino  for  a  regular 
ball.  Say !  What 's  the  matter  with  one  of  you 
ladies  leading  the  grand  march  with  me  f  That 's 
the  ticket!  We'll  start  her  off  with  a  regular 
grand  march. ' ' 

The  girl  was  at  that  moment  looking  down 
upon  her  plate.  She  raised  her  liquid  eyes  not 
at  first  toward  Mr.  Sabin  but  toward  her 
mother.  Tommy  saw  a  moment  of  hesitation, 
could  fancy  that  some  signaling  glance  had 
passed  between  the  two  women,  before  the  girl 
turned  her  eyes  upon  Mr.  Sabin  and  said,  "I'm 
sure  we  'd  be  delighted. ' ' 

Mrs.  Bates  took  up  the  conversation  then, 
Tommy  eavesdropping  without  shame,  while 
eating  by  pure  animal  instinct.  He  could  catch 

[27] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

only  an  occasional  word,  however ;  though  once 
or  twice  John  W.  Sabin  laughed  immoderately. 
When  the  conversation  again  became  audible 
Mr.  Sabin  was  talking,  in  a  booming  voice  and 
an  accent  which  cut  like  steel,  about  his 
matched  two-twenty  road  team.  It  cost  him,  he 
seemed  willing  to  tell  the  world,  two  thousand 
dollars. 

"How  interesting!"  commented  the  girl. 

"You're  all  goin  for  a  spin  behind  'em  this 
afternoon,  too,"  said  Mr.  Sabin.  "They  sure 
do  eat  up  road.  Tell  you  what  you  do;  you 
come  out  with  me  right  after  dinner  to  look  over 
the  mines. ' ' 

"We'll  be  delighted,"  murmured  Mrs.  Bates. 

But  the  girl,  when  Mr.  Sabin  turned  to  her, 
hesitated.  She  spoke  at  last,  and  more  dis- 
tinctly than  usual. 

*  *  I  think  the  altitude  has  affected  me  a  little, ' ' 
she  said.  ' '  Would  you  mind  if  I  napped  for  an 
hour  or  sol  Then,  if  you  and  Mr.  Sabin  aren't 
back  by  three  o  'clock,  I  might  take  a  little  walk 
round  town." 

' l  Alone  I ' '  queried  her  mother. 

"Well,  why  not?"  queried  Mr.  Sabin,  with  a 

[28] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

touch  of  resentment  in  his  tone.  "A  lady's  as 
safe  in  the  streets  of  this  camp  as  she  would  be 
in  any  ballroom  in  the  land." 

By  now  the  head  waitress,  attending  per- 
sonally to  the  wants  of  the  Marlborough 's 
eminent  owner,  had  removed  the  fringes  of 
small  dishes  about  the  plates  and  was  with 
great  ceremony  laying  out  Indian  pudding  in 
saucers.  Their  dinner  was  soon  to  end;  and 
Tommy,  who  had  already  finished,  could  see  no 
excuse  for  lingering.  He  rose,  therefore;  and 
the  motion  brought  a  glance  from  the  girl, 
accompanied  by  the  very  ghost  of  a  smile.  In  a 
rosy  haze  he  walked  out  into  the  lobby,  already 
filling  with  satisfied  diners,  who  lolled  in  the 
wooden  chairs,  smoking,  plying  toothpicks,  com- 
paring specimens. 

That  magic  hour  of  three  o  'clock  had  burned 
into  his  mind,  suggesting  a  plan  so  simple  and 
yet  so  daring  that  he  flushed  at  the  thought.  For 
the  present  he  had  an  unaccountable  fear  of 
being  caught  watching  Mr.  Sabin  and  party 
emerge  from  the  dining  room.  So,  as  nonchal- 
antly as  he  could  manage,  he  strolled  out  to  the 
plank  sidewalk  of  Main  Street.  Past  the  six- 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

mule  freight  teams  struggling  through  the  dust, 
past  swinging  doors  which  even  at  that  hour 
gave  forth  the  sounds  of  loud  pianos,  past  all 
the  soiled  and  dusty  but  romantic  confusion  of 
a  mining  camp  struggling  toward  the  dignity 
of  a  railroad  and  townhood,  his  feet  seemed  to 
carry  him  involuntarily  toward  the  Arizona 
House. 

Through  its  swinging  door,  unfurnished  with 
that  modest  protecting  screen  which  usually 
guarded  vice  from  the  eye  of  respectability  in 
the  days  when  the  Demon  Rum  held  unchecked 
sway,  he  passed  into  the  barroom.  This  boasted 
the  longest  solid-mahogany  bar  in  the  West,  and 
was  beyond  doubt  the  most  elegantly  furnished 
room  in  Carbonado  Camp.  That  bar  was  broken 
in  the  midst  of  its  polished  length  by  an  inser- 
tion of  plate  glass  four  feet  long,  from  beneath 
which  glittered  dully  a  mosaic  of  five,  ten  and 
twenty  dollar  gold  pieces.  The  long  mirrors 
which  reflected  back  the  dull  glint  of  this  little 
fortune  were  decorated  with  Spencerian  scrolls 
drawn  in  soap,  surrounding  such  legends  as 
"Trust  is  dead;  bad  pay  killed  him,"  "All 
mixed  drinks,  four  bits,"  and  "If  you  want 

[30] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

trouble,  find  it  outside. ' '  Scroll-worked  cabinets 
between  the  mirrors  held  bottles  containing 
those  highly  colored  drinks  for  which  no  one 
seemed  to  call  in  Carbonado  Camp,  but  which 
were  necessary  in  those  days  to  well-conducted 
bars.  Over  all  was  draped  an  American  flag, 
its  folds  very  dusty,  its  colors  a  little  fly-specked. 
The  chandeliers  which  held  the  big  oil  lamps 
were  ornamented  by  frills  and  skirts  of  pink 
and  blue  paper,  cut  into  lace-like  patterns. 
There  were  other  items  suggesting  elegance  and 
prosperity,  such  as  a  big  genuine  oil  painting  of 
the  Grand  Canon  and  a  cabinet  containing  speci- 
mens of  horn  silver  and  free  gold.  This  was  the 
club  of  the  town,  the  place  into  which  one  drifted 
when  he  had  nothing  else  to  do,  the  center  of 
gossip. 

And  gossip  was  already  busy  at  the  Arizona 
House.  Against  the  bar  leaned  half  a  dozen 
miners  in  high  boots,  overalls  and  rough  frieze 
coats,  drinking  their  afternoon  draft  democrat- 
ically with  mining  men  in  glove-fitting  store 
clothes  and  large  diamonds.  To  Tommy 'a  ears, 
sharpened  and  attuned  that  day  to  but  a  single 
theme,  came  out  this:  "Well,  both  of  them 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

ladies  are  lollapaloozers  if  anybody  drives  up 
in  a  hack  and  asks  you." 

''What  are  they  doing  here!"  asked  another 
voice. 

That  miner  who  had  spoken  first — he  was  a 
foreman  on  Mr.  Sabin's  Wild  Rose  property — 
gave  a  sly  wink. 

"John  W.,"  he  said,  "goes  down  to  Denver 
and  they  takes  him  out  in  sassiety.  He  meets 
this  here  outfit  at  one  of  them  dude  swarries. 
And  he  asks  them  up  here  to  visit  him  at  the 
Marlborough,  his  shack  not  being  ready.  Seems 
to  be  in  a  hurry,  sort  of  suddenlike,  as  usual. 
Well,  it's  time.  He's  been  a  bachelor  long 
enough,  with  the  stake  he's  got.  Nice-looking 
girl,  and  a  credit  to  the  camp  too. ' ' 

"Somebody  was  telling  me,"  remarked  one 
of  the  mining  men,  "that  they're  already  en- 
gaged." 

"Nothin'  in  it,"  replied  the  foreman.  "I 
looked  particular  at  her  hand,  and  she  wasn't 
wearin '  no  diamond  ring  on  her  wedding  finger. 
You  don't  suppose  old  John  W.  wouldn't  do  the 
right  thing  by  her,  do  you?" 

[32] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

1 * Where  do  they  come  from — the  East?"  in- 
quired another  voice. 

A  prospector  who  had  hitherto  refrained  from 
conversation  parted  his  hairy  lips  and  thusly 
spake :  "East  nothin' !  I  knew  the  old  party  as 
soon  as  I  sot  eyes  on  her.  She's  Mrs.  Bates, 
that  used  to  run  the  miners'  boardin'  house  at 
Clear  Creek.  Made  a  little  stake  somehow,  she 
did,  an'  moved  to  Denver,  and  now  I  hear  she's 
flyin '  high.  First  time  I  ever  see  the  daughter, 
but  they  tell  me  the  old  lady  had  her  all  that 
time  in  one  of  them  convents  or  seminaries  or 
somethin'." 

1  'We 're  gettin'  kind  of  personal,"  said  the 
foreman;  "and  anyhow  it  ain't  fittin',  talkin' 
over  real  ladies  in  a  low  groggery.  Well,  boys, 
the  precious  metal  is  still  to  be  extracted  on 
Sacramento  Hill,  and  I'm  overdue  at  the  shaft. 
Here 's  to  'em ! ' ' 

Tommy,  who  had  stifled  an  impulse  to  break 
into  this  group  and  thrash  someone  or  other, 
sank  down  midway  of  the  conversation  into  a 
chair  by  a  poker  table.  John  W.  Sabin  the 
Great,  in  love  with  her!  Reported  engaged! 
A  black,  immovable  obstacle  seemed  to  have 

[33] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

settled  down  between  him  and  that  smiling 
dreamland  where  columbines  are  not  shaken 
from  their  stems. 

Yet  on  the  other  hand — a  miners'  boarding 
house !  She,  who  seemed  so  exalted  in  her  East- 
ern clothes,  came  from  origins  as  humble  as  his 
own.  All  that  afternoon  and  all  that  sleepless 
night  he  was  to  be  working  on  love 's  arithmetic, 
balancing  his  hopes  against  his  despairs. 


[34] 


CHAPTEE  III 

JUST  a  stroke  before  the  hour  of  three,  be- 
hold Tommy  wandering  with  an  assumed 
nonchalance  down  Main  Street.  As  when 
he  left  the  claim  that  morning,  he  seemed  drawn 
by  a  command  superior  to  his  will.  During  the 
hour  before,  the  balances  in  love's  arithmetic 
had  been  only  minus  quantities ;  he  had  sat  be- 
side the  poker  table  of  the  Arizona  House  imag- 
ining picturesque  plans  for  an  exit  from  this  sad 
world.  Enlisting  in  the  United  States  Army  to 
fight  the  Sioux  and  being  found  on  the  battle- 
field with  a  letter  addressed  to  her  over  his 
bleeding  heart — that  seemed,  on  the  whole,  the 
most  feasible  and  satisfying.  Nevertheless,  he 
had  risen  five  minutes  before  the  hour,  dusted 
off  the  shoulders  of  his  new  store  clothes,  flicked 
the  shine  of  his  shoes  with  a  handkerchief,  and 
started  forth. 

And  as  he  approached  the  door  of  the  Marl- 
borough  it  opened  to  disgorge  beauty.  His  in- 
fatuated eyes  registered  that  she  was  wearing 

[351 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

blue,  something  which  fitted  as  a  bark  its  tree 
over  her  virginal  shoulders  and  breast;  that  a 
little  foam  of  feathers  tossed  above  the  black 
film  of  bang  on  her  forehead;  that  along  her 
arm — sweetly  slender,  clad  in  a  long  brown 
glove — lay  a  folded  white  parasol  from  which 
fluttered  a  pink  ruffle. 

For  a  fateful  moment  she  hesitated  at  the 
door.  If  she  turned  in  the  other  direction 
Tommy  knew  he  could  never  summon  the  nerve 
to  follow  her.  But  after  a  second  of  pretty  hesi- 
tation she  turned  toward  him.  Now — would  she 
speak  or  would  she  overlook  him?  But  fate  de- 
cided that  moment  also  in  favor  of  Tommy,  for 
as  she  drew  near  him  her  eyes,  roving  about  the 
sights  of  Main  Street,  fell  on  his.  They  lit  with 
recognition  and, ' l  Good  afternoon ! ' '  she  said  in 
a  voice  reserved  and  yet  friendly.  And  she 
seemed  to  hesitate  slightly  in  her  tripping  walk. 

'  *  Good  afternoon, ' '  he  said,  and  then,  manag- 
ing to  gulp  the  words  out  somehow:  "Did  they 
last  I n 

At  that  she  really  stopped. 

"Yes,"  she  said;  "one  of  them  lasted  all 
the  way  to  the  hotel.  I  haven't  had  a  chance 

[36] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

to  thank  you  before.  They  are  very,  very 
beautiful. ' ' 

Then,  with  the  slow  motion  of  a  leaf  which 
sways  in  the  breeze,  she  turned  away  as  though 
to  resume  her  walk.  But  those  eyes  of  hers  held 
that — was  it  a  too  great  shyness? — which  em- 
boldened Tommy  to  the  most  daring  act  of  his 
life. 

"Were  you  walking  anywhere?"  he  asked; 
and  then  blushed  inwardly  at  the  awkwardness 
of  his  approach. 

"I  was  just  going  out  to  see  the  town,"  she 
said. 

"Would  you  mind  if  I  went  with  you — to 
show  it  to  you?"  he  gulped. 

She  seemed  to  hesitate;  then  looked  full  on 
him  with  eyes  become  like  pools. 

"It  will  be  only  a  very  short  walk,"  she  said. 

"We  might  go  up  to  the  top  of  the  hill,"  he 
suggested,  suddenly  grown  so  bold  as  to  aston- 
ish himself. 

So  her  high  heels  made  a  pleasant  tapping 
and  his  square-toed  shoes  a  bass  clumping  be- 
side each  other  on  the  board  sidewalk.  But  they 
were  silent  for  a  moment — he  because  of  a  rush 

[37] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

of  warm,  delicious,  absolute  bliss.  She,  if  he 
had  only  known  it,  was  giving  him  a  swift  femi- 
nine appraisal.  He  did  not  look  half  so  roman- 
tic in  his  black  ready-made  store  clothes,  his 
blue  necktie  drawn  through  a  gold  ring,  his 
choker  collar,  as  he  had  seemed  there  among  the 
columbines  in  his  brown  overalls  tucked  into 
high  boots,  his  belt  sagging  over  one  of  his 
manly  hips,  his  blue  shirt  open  at  the  throat. 
But  he  still  showed  that  fresh  blond  complexion 
tanned  to  the  color  of  a  dark  tea  rose,  those  blue 
eyes  as  clear  as  mountain  brooks,  and  that  en- 
gaging smile.  And  he  had  shoulders;  and  he 
strode  with  the  gait  of  a  strong  man. 

"It's  my  first  visit  to  Carbonado,"  she  said, 
breaking  the  somewhat  awkward  silence  and 
answering  the  conventional  question  already 
forming  on  his  lips. 

"You  come  from  the  East!"  he  asked,  guiltily 
concealing  his  knowledge. 

"I  do,"  she  replied;  "from  the  effete  East. 
I  wasn't  born  a  tenderfoot,  but  I'm  a  tender- 
foot now.  I've  just  been  out  of  school  since 
April." 

"I  went  to  school  off  and  on  up  to  three  years 

[38] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

ago,"  he  said.  "Finished  off  with  the  Union 
High  School  at  Parkinsville,  back  in  Nebraska. " 

"What  do  they  teach  you  in  high  school?" 
she  asked.  '  *  Mathematics  and  Latin  and  French 
and  Italian  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  just  as 
they  do  in  a  young  ladies '  seminary?  I  suppose 
they  excuse  the  boys  from  embroidery  and  ball- 
room deportment. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  guess  so,"  replied  Tommy;  "except 
they  go  light  on  French,  and  I  never  heard  of 
their  teaching  Dago.  I  liked  Latin, ' '  he  added. 

'  *  So  did  I, ' '  said  the  girl.  ' '  It  was  my  favor- 
ite study." 

"Mine  too!"  he  said;  and  they  were  both 
silent  for  a  moment,  as  though  amazed  by  this 
remarkable  coincidence  of  tastes. 

"Were  you  specially  fond  of  Vergil,  Mr. 
"  Here  she  paused. 

' '  Coulter  —  Thomas  J.  Coulter, ' '  he  said 
promptly.  He  was  becoming  as  bold  as  a  lion. 

"My  name  is  Eleanor  Bates,"  she  said  as 
promptly.  "Isn't  it  the  strangest  thing?  We 
have  been  just  the  same  as  introduced,  and  by 
my  mother;  and  yet  I  didn't  even  know  your 
name ! ' ' 

[39] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

"Sure  is  queer,"  answered  Tommy.  "Say, 
could  you  stand  algebra?" 

"Loathed  it!"  she  replied.  "But  I  liked 
geometry.  All  those  funny  figures  looked  like 
little  pictures,  if  you  know  what  I  mean. '  * 

"So  did  I  like  geom,"  said  he.  This  was  be- 
coming more  and  more  astonishing.  "But  since 
I  got  out  of  school  IVe  pretty  near  forgotten 
it.  Been  too  busy  with  other  things." 

"What  things?"  she  asked,  picking  her  way 
delicately  over  what  was  intended  for  a  street 
crossing  and  was  only  a  dusty,  humpy  waste. 

"Oh,  punched  cattle,  took  a  turn  at  freight- 
ing, and  now  I'm  grubstaking  for  gold,"  he 
said. 

' '  I  know  what  grubstaking  means.  My  father 
grubstaked.  He 's  dead  long  ago,  poor  old  dad, 
but  I  was  born  on  a  claim  in  Wyoming. ' ' 

Why,  having  recorded  all  that  is  necessary 
of  this  conversation,  should  I  further  intrude 
into  this  little  stroll?  Full  of  delicious  discov- 
eries, like  that  of  the  kindred  taste  for  Latin, 
it  took  halting  steps  toward  acquaintance;  and 
each  new  step  led  to  pleasant  vistas.  Before 
they  rounded  that  corner  by  the  Arizona  House 

[40] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

which  led  to  the  residential  section  of  log  cabins, 
board  shacks  and  reenforced  tents,  they  had 
both  discovered  that  they  cared  little  for  square 
dances  but  loved  to  schottish  and  waltz.  By 
the  time  they  started  the  ascent  of  the  long 
grade  they  had  discovered  through  shy  ap- 
proaches that  they  both  thought  that  all  the 
religion  wasn't  in  the  churches.  Halfway  up 
the  grade  her  chatter  stopped  and  she  breathed 
with  a  delicate  sighing;  for  she  was  not  yet 
acclimated  to  that  two-mile  altitude.  As  they 
came  to  the  steepest  pull,  therefore,  he  boldly 
held  out  his  arm  and  she  let  her  hand  rest  ever 
so  lightly  on  his  elbow,  so  that  his  breath  caught 
also — but  not  with  altitude.  As  her  breathing 
grew  even  more  difficult  they  stopped  and  gath- 
ered a  bouquet  of  the  little  blue  and  pink  daisies 
which  June  had  sprinkled  along  the  trail.  At 
the  summit  they  sat  themselves  down  on  a  great 
rock. 

' '  That 's  the  view, ' '  he  said. 

Below  them  lay  the  camp,  in  the  center  follow- 
ing a  regular  geometric  plan  of  streets  bordered 
by  log  cabins,  by  board  shacks,  by  clapboarded 
two-story  business  blocks.  Beyond,  log  cabins 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

and  reenf orced  tents  straggled  irregularly  along 
the  curving  roads.  Beyond  that  and  between 
lay  heaped  the  fringe  of  abandoned  tin  cans 
which  always  borders  a  mining  camp.  But  the 
distances  were  all  mountain.  Though  the  earth 
up  to  the  edges  of  the  perpetual  snows  showed 
only  dull  yellows  and  reds  and  browns,  though 
the  straggling  dwarf  pine  and  fir  forests  offered 
but  little  relief  of  color,  the  impression  some- 
how was  of  a  heavenly  whiteness,  of  an  earth 
in  which  nothing  could  fester  or  grow  impure. 
* '  Charming ! ' '  said  she.  '  *  And  don 't  you  just 
detest  people  who  say  you  can't  understand 
things  because  you  're  too  young  I ' ' 


[42] 


CHAPTER  IV 

JOHN  W.  SABIN  and  Mrs.  Amelia  Bates 
had  finished  their  visit  to  the  rich   and 
flourishing      General      Longstreet     mine, 
where  the  lady  had  been  received  with  the 
honor  due  visiting  royalty  and  its  guest.    Mrs. 
Bates  had  even  been  offered  a  descent  into  the 
shaft,  and  had  declined  with  thanks.  "Wouldn't 
be  any  new  experience  for  me,"  she  said. 

But  she  had  gone  over  the  new  hoisting 
apparatus  with  the  chief  engineer,  had  been 
allowed  to  test  the  levers,  had  pronounced  it 
good ;  she  had  been  presented  with  a  newly  dug 
specimen  of  wire  silver,  the  pure,  precious  metal 
lying  like  curls  of  venerable  hair  in  the  clefts 
of  its  matrix;  she  had  visited  the  newly  in- 
stalled miners'  boarding  house,  where  she  had 
offered  valuable  and  expert  suggestions  to 
Sammy  the  Dutchman,  its  manager  and  chef. 
They  had  stopped,  too,  before  John  W.'s  new 
shack,  upon  which  the  painters  were  just  then 
slapping  a  first  coat  of  pink  and  gray,  into 

[43] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

which  a  freighter  was  just  then  unloading  a 
set  of  shiny  black-walnut  dining-room  furni- 
ture, a  dozen  wicker  chairs  and  a  gleaming 
brass  bed;  and  she  had  mightily  commended 
the  taste  of  her  host.  Now  they  were  taking  one 
final  turn  over  the  hills  to  see  the  view; 
John  W.,  who  on  the  level  road  had  been 
showing  her  how  they  could  step,  slacked  his 
matched  chestnuts  down  to  a  walk  as  he  reached 
a  bumpy,  rocky  stretch,  and  dug  deeper  into 
the  intimacies  of  conversation. 

11  About  your  daughter  —  Miss  Nellie,"  he 
began  after  several  preliminary  gulps;  "I 
suppose  you  guessed  when  I  asked  you  both  up 
here  that  my  intentions  were  serious,  sort  of." 

"Now,  Mr.  Sabin,"  said  Mrs.  Bates,  "when 
an  unmarried  gentleman  makes  such  advances 
to  an  unmarried  lady,  everybody  who  knows 
their  way  round  knows  that  it  ain't  just  a 
matter  of  charity.  When  I  caught  you  looking 
at  her  in  Mrs.  Barstow  'a  parlor  I  savvied  right 
away  what  you  meant. ' ' 

"Well,  that  makes  it  a  heap  easier,"  said 
John  W.,  absently  flicking  a  fly  from  the  back 
of  his  nigh  horse ;  "  a  heap  easier.  You  under- 

[44] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

stand  a  person,  you  do.  It  figures  out  this  way. 
When  I  was  broke,  which  I  mostly  was  before 
I  struck  it  in  this  here  General  Longstreet,  I 
never  wanted  to  get  married.  Then,  when  I 
was  past  forty,  this  come  my  way. ' ' 

John  W.  Sabin  made  a  flash  of  a  three-carat 
diamond  and  of  a  five-carat  ruby  as  he  waved 
his  hand  over  the  vista  of  Carbonado  clustering 
grayly  in  the  hollow  below,  over  the  crumpled 
hills,  their  bristle  of  pines  broken  here  and 
there  by  dun  shaft  houses  and  black  dumps, 
over  the  smelter  smoke  polluting  here  and  there 
the  white  purity  of  mountain  distances. 

"What  am  I  goin'  to  do  with  a  big  house 
when  Carbonado  gits  to  be  the  capital  of  the 
state,"  John  W.  went  on,  "and  no  first  lady  of 
the  camp?  I  didn't  need  any  first  lady  for  the 
cabins  I  had  frequented  and  inhabited  hitherto, 
but  now  —  four  million  dollars  my  stake  in  this 
camp  stands  me  —  mines,  real  estate,  every- 
thing. All  because  I  believed  in  this  here 
General  Longstreet  proposition  three  years  ago 
and  wouldn't  let  go.  And  Lord  knows  how 
much  more  it  will  come  to  before  I'm  through!" 

[45] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

"It's  been  wonderful,  astonishing,"  mur- 
mured Mrs.  Bates. 

As  she  sat  there  —  her  eyes  like  her  daugh- 
ter's, large  and  dark  but  somehow  more  direct 
and  fiery;  her  hair  like  her  daughter's  black 
and  without  one  touch  of  gray;  her  figure  like 
her  daughter's  erect  though  more  broadly 
curved  —  she  made  a  picture  of  soft  and  sym- 
pathetic though  mature  comeliness. 

"And  you  saw  my  Nellie  at  Mrs.  Bar  stow 's," 
she  put  in.  "And  you  thought,  'That's  the 
girl  I  want ! '  Not  making  any  more  bones  about 
it.  I've  always  believed  in  coming  right  out 
and  speaking  my  mind. ' ' 

"That's  about  right.  Say,  you  get  things 
without  telling,  don't  you?"  said  John  W. 
Sabin,  turning  upon  her  the  equally  penetrating 
glare  of  two  immense  diamond  studs  and  two 
keen,  trail-sharpened  eyes.  "You'll  make  an 
A-l  mother-in-law,  you  will!  Tell  you  what 
you  do.  When  we've  had  our  honeymoon 
seein'  things  in  Yurrup,  you're  comin'  to  live 
with  us.  I  can  see  by  the  way  you  went  over 
that  boardin'  house  that  you  can  give  most 
anybody  points  on  runnin'  a  big  place.  And 

[46] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

she 's  got  to  be  run  to  the  nines.  Yes,  sir,  when 
this  here  camp  is  capital  of  the  state  — " 

"Well,  as  for  runnin'  a  boarding  house  I 
ought  to  know,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Bates,  abruptly 
hauling  him  from  the  saddle  of  his  hobby.  "  I  Ve 
been  perfectly  square  with  you  in  this  affair, 
Mr.  Sabin,"  she  added,  unaccountably  switch- 
ing the  angle  of  the  conversation.  "I  could 
have  impersonated  a  society  lady  from  the 
East,  with  a  daughter  like  that.  But  here's 
the  Lord's  truth.  Ever  since  her  father  died, 
when  she  was  seven  and  I  was  twenty-seven, 
I've  had  my  nose  to  the  grindstone  runnin' 
miners '  boarding  houses  to  make  my  own  little 
stake  for  her  and  give  her  the  right  kind  of 
education — just  to  put  her  where  she'd  never 
have  to  scratch  and  scrub  like  I  've  always  done. 
Lord  knows,  I  'd  be  further  along  than  I  am,  too, 
if  I  hadn't  went  and  fell  for  mining  stock. 
Somehow  I  always  knew  that  she'd  grow  up 
beautiful. 

"And  she's  brainy,  too,"  added  Mrs.  Bates 
more  softly.  ' '  She  always  won  the  silver  medal 
in  the  seminary  for  English  composition.  Writes 
poetry  too.  Sometimes  I  think  she  ought  to 

[47] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

take  up  literature.  Some  of  her  writings  are 
the  grandest  things !  Her  report  cards  were  a 
regular  joy.  And  the  nicest  disposition!" 

1  'She's  got  all  that."  said  John  W.,  echoing 
in  his  tone  the  softness  of  his  mother-in-law 
elect.  "  Could  see  it  the  moment  I  sighted  her. 
I  says  to  myself,  'She's  it!  she's  a  looker.'  I 
always  liked  'em  dark.  'And  she's  sweet  as 
honey  and  she's  got  an  education.'  I  want  to 
git  an  education  myself.  'Tain't  too  late  to 
learn,  I  figure.  There's  a  heap  of  things  I 
want  to  know  about — astronomy,  for  example. ' ' 

"And  of  course  you  loved  her,"  put  in  Mrs. 
Bates. 

1 '  Oh,  HeU  yes !"  said  John  W.  Sabin.  ' '  Ain  't 
I  been  tellin'  you?" 

"You  sort  of  took  it  for  granted  a  little  while 
ago,"  put  in  Mrs.  Bates,  her  voice  hardening 
to  a  more  practical  tone,  "that  she  was  going 
to  have  you. ' ' 

"Yes,  that's  the  question,"  replied  John  W., 
his  manner  changing  but  growing  not  unduly 
subdued.  "After  all,  don't  look  very  promising 
that  she  wouldn't  come  out  with  us  this  after- 
noon. How  do  you  think  I  stand  ? ' ' 

[48] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

"Oh,  as  for  not  coming  along,"  reassured 
Mrs.  Bates,  "that  was  probably  only  girlish 
coyness.  I  was  going  to  warn  you  that  you 
can't  rush  things  too  much  with  a  young  girl, 
any  more  'n  you  can  with  a  half -broken  filly.  If 
you'd  ask  her  now,  you'd  only  drive  her  away. 
A  novel  I  read  once  had  it  just  right.  I  can't 
exactly  remember  what  it  was"  —  Here  Mrs. 
Bates  made  a  pretty  pursing  between  her  level 
brows  —  "but  something  in  the  Waverly 
Weekly.  It  said,  'Would  you  pluck  open  a  bud 
before  its  time  to  bloom?'  She  must  be  wooed 
gently.  But  she's  attracted.  A  girl's  mother 
knows." 

"Well,  how  do  you  know?"  inquired  John  W., 
almost  shamefacedly. 

"I  suppose  I  oughtn't  rightly  to  tell  you 
this,"  said  Mrs.  Bates,  "but  a  mother's  duty  is 
first  to  consider  her  daughter's  good.  Well, 
this  morning  when  I  reminded  her  that  you 
were  going  to  call  at  noon  her  back  was  toward 
me  but  she  didn't  hide  her  neck. 

"She  was  blushing.  Sure  as  anything,  she 
was  blushing. ' ' 

"Was  she?"  said  John  W.  Sabin  softly. 
"The  cute  little  cuss!" 

[49] 


CHAPTER  V 

INTO  the  family  suite  of  two  small  rooms  at 
the  Marlborough  entered  Mrs.  Bates.  Her 
expression  as  she  bent  her  gaze  upon  the 
back  of  her  daughter  Nellie,  deliciously,  color- 
fully outlined  against  the  black  walnut  of  the 
Marlborough 's  star  effect  in  bureaus,  was  bright 
and  yet  soft.  It  displayed  affection  illuminated 
with  both  hope  and  triumph.  Nellie  started 
slightly  and  turned,  revealing  what  she  was 
doing.  She  had  been  arranging  in  the  water 
pitcher  a  bouquet  of  pink  and  blue  field  daisies. 

"Oh,  mother — you  frightened  me  for  a  mo- 
ment," she  said. 

Mrs.  Bates  tripped  over  to  her — though  ma- 
ture in  figure  she  was  astonishingly  light  of  step 
— and  dropped  a  kiss  on  her  daughter's  cheek. 

"And  what  has  my  Nellie  been  doing  this 
afternoon?"  she  asked.  "Did  you  take  your 


"Yes,  mother,"  replied  Nellie  with  all  the 
demureness  in  the  world.  "I  walked  a  little 
way  up  the  hill." 

[so] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

"And  nobody  annoyed  you — just  as  Mr. 
Sabin  said?" 

"No,  mother." 

Nellie  at  this  point  seemed  to  note  something 
imperfect  with  the  arrangement  of  the  daisies. 
She  took  a  step  to  the  bureau  and  plunged  her 
pink  fingers  among  the  blossoms,  before  she 
went  on. 

"That  young  man  whom  we  met  when  we 
were  in  the  stage — the  one  who  gave  us  the 
columbines — passed  and  asked  me  if  there  was 
anything  he  could  do  to  show  me  the  town. ' ' 

The  face  of  Mrs.  Bates,  turned  upon  the  pic- 
ture by  the  bureau,  played  in  three  winks  of  an 
eyelash  a  whole  drama.  From  surprise  her  ex- 
pression shaded  to  suspicion,  from  suspicion  to 
anger;  then,  as  if  by  control  of  will  and  reason, 
it  ironed  out  to  its  usual  good  humor,  tinged 
perhaps  by  a  shade  of  prim  disapproval. 

"But,  Nellie,"  she  said,  "you've  never  been 
introduced  to  him." 

"I  thought  of  that,  mother,"  said  Nellie  in 
her  own  primmest  tone,  "but  after  all  I  felt  that 
I'd  really  been  introduced  by  you.  He  only 

[si] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

talked  to  me  a  little.  Then  I  gathered  these 
flowers  and  came  home." 

"A  young  lady  can't  be  too  reserved,"  said 
Mrs.  Bates. 

"So  they  told  me  at  the  seminary,"  replied 
Nellie.  ; '  How  did  you  like  the  mines  f ' ' 

But  Mrs.  Bates  eluded  this  transparent  at- 
tempt to  change  the  subject. 

"What  sort  of  young  man  is  he?"  she  asked, 
speaking  with  apparent  indifference  as  she  drew 
off  her  gloves. 

"Oh,  he  seems  very  well  educated,"  replied 
Nellie.  "Of  course  I  didn't  have  any  conver- 
sation with  him  to  speak  of. ' ' 

"What  does  he  do?" 

Mrs.  Bates  had  now  stepped  up  to  the  mirror 
and  with  apparent  absorption  was  patting  a 
loose  friz  into  place. 

"What  did  he  say?  Oh,  yes — he  says  he 
grubstakes!" 

"H'm,"  said  Mrs.  Bates;  but  so  lightly  that 
it  might  have  been  taken  for  an  incipient  cough. 
Then  she  changed  the  subject. 

"Well,  it's  a  pity  you  missed  it;  but  Mr. 
Sabin  says  he'll  take  us  out  again  to-morrow 

[52] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

or  day  after.  Mining's  improved  a  lot  since  the 
days  I  knew  it.  They  wanted  to  take  me  down 
the  shaft  and  I  was  dying  to  go,  but  you  look 
such  a  frump  in  the  things  they  put  on  you. 
Mr.  Sabin  treated  me  like  a  prince.  He  has  a 
fine  nature.  He's  the  youngest  man  of  his  age 
I  ever  knew." 

She  paused  as  though  for  a  response,  but  none 
came.  She  had  by  now  unhooked  her  basque, 
which  after  the  fashion  of  the  times  confined 
her  figure  like  a  vise. 

"Whew!    That's  a  relief!"  she  sighed. 

She  glanced  then  at  the  alarm  clock  on  the 
mantel,  and  her  expression  grew  practical, 
executive. 

"We're  going  to  have  supper  to-morrow  at 
the  new  Maison  Eiche  Eestaurant  with  Mr. 
Sabin,"  she  said,  "and  I  for  one  hope  they 
don't  give  us  canned  stuff.  My  mouth  tastes 
of  solder  already!  To-night,  thank  goodness, 
we  can  catch  a  little  sleep.  I  think  we  'd  better 
go  as  we  are — you  might  put  on  a  fresh  jabot, 
though.  Oh,"  she  added,  "how  did  your  ball 
gown  come  out  of  the  trunk?  I  didn't  have 
time  to  look  it  over  this  morning.  It  it's  wrin- 

[53] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

kled  I  don't  know  how  I'll  ever  get  it  pressed 
up  here. ' ' 

1  'It's  only  a  little  wrinkled,  mother,"  re- 
sponded Nellie. 

She  crossed  to  the  tiny  closet,  unhung  and 
brought  forth  a  huge  foam  of  white  and  pink. 

"Lay  it  out  on  the  table,"  said  Mrs.  Bates. 

The  pink  and  white  settled  down  on  the  Tur- 
key red  of  thg  tablecloth.  Mrs.  Bates  inspected 
the  steels  of  the  tight  bodice,  the  lace  about  the 
corsage,  with  a  critical  eye;  but  she  spoke  of 
other  things. 

"Did  that  young  man  ask  to  call?"  she  in- 
quired. 

Nellie's  face,  turned  on  the  downcast  face  of 
her  mother,  was  flicked  by  a  sudden  expression 
of  annoyance.  She  made  a  quick  impatient  out- 
ward gesture.  Then  she  let  out  a  little  "Oh!" 
and  stood  looking  blankly  down  on  a  calamity. 

In  their  absorption  with  their  unexpressed 
thoughts  both  ladies  failed  to  notice  that  a  bot- 
tle of  ink  stood  on  the  Turkey-red  tablecloth. 
In  the  sweep  of  her  sudden  gesture  Nellie  had 
struck  it.  The  bottle  bounced  on  the  pink  foam 
of  the  skirt;  the  cork  flew  out;  what  had  been 

[54] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

unbroken  pink  silk  was  now  an  irregular  pat- 
tern of  pink  and  black. 

Mrs.  Bates  sprang  to  action ;  seizing  a  towel 
from  the  rack  she  began  to  sop  up  the  ink.  This 
was  a  futile  measure,  as  she  realized  after  an 
instant.  Her  fingers  dripping  with  black,  she 
stood  facing  her  daughter. 

"Well,  of  all  the  awkwardness!"  she  blazed; 
and  then,  in  her  most  pathetic  tone :  * '  Oh,  how- 
ever did  you  come  to  do  it!" 

"Oh,  mother,  I'm  so  sorry!"  said  Nellie,  on 
the  verge  of  tears. 

"Well,  sorry  don't  help  now!"  said  Mrs. 
Bates.  "Let's  see  what's  happened." 

Bodice  and  skirt  had  completely  escaped.  The 
great  gathered  pile  of  pink  silk  which  tossed 
over  the  bustle  had  sustained  all  the  damage; 
it  was  a  ruin,  past  all  hope  of  cleaning. 

"Seven  yards  of  silk,  double  width,"  mused 
Mrs.  Bates.  "Let's  see  if  there's  any  machine 
sewing.  No,  only  gathered.  I  could  do  it  all 
with  a  needle." 

"Oh,  mother,  I'll  do  it!"  volunteered  Nellie. 
"My  pretty  dress!" 

The  tears  started  in  her  eyes,  suggesting  that 

[55] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

Nellie  was  still  in  that  stage  of  womanhood 
when  a  girl  is  capable  of  relapsing  and  playing 
with  dolls. 

"Silk  here  will  be  ten  dollars  a  yard  at  the 
least,"  Mrs.  Bates  said,  as  though  thinking 
aloud.  "But  they  must  have  those  standard 
shades." 

She  paused,  lightly  tapping  a  white  front 
tooth  with  a  spotted  finger.  Then,  unaccount- 
able, she  turned,  went  into  her  own  room. 
Nellie,  dumbly  fingering  the  wreckage  of  what 
had  been  her  ball  gown,  wondered  vaguely  why 
her  mother  turned  the  key  in  the  lock. 

Mrs.  Bates,  alone,  had  drawn  a  buckskin  bag 
from  under  her  skirt,  had  shaken  its  golden 
contents  out  on  her  bureau,  was  counting  them. 


[56] 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  ladies  of  the  Bates  family  supped 
alone  that  evening.  It  was  lodge  night 
for  John  W.  Sabin,  and  in  his  capacity 
of  Grand  Masterful  Euler  he  could  not  shirk 
this  masculine  duty,  even  for  the  soft  indul- 
gences of  budding  love.  Tommy,  having  with 
difficulty  restrained  his  eagerness,  carefully 
managed  things  so  as  to  enter  after  the  ladies 
were  seated.  Vaguely  he  hoped  for  the  un- 
attainable— a  place  with  them  at  that  special 
table  of  John  W.  Sabin.  However,  as  he  passed 
them,  making  a  prearranged  detour,  Mrs.  Bates 
merely  nodded  stiffly,  and  Nellie  the  divine  gave 
him  only  her  most  conventional  seminary  bow. 
He  seated  himself  in  his  own  place,  as  pre- 
determined by  the  head  waitress  at  dinner  time. 
Then  he  had  sat  blessedly,  blissfully  alone.  To- 
night he  found  at  his  table  a  traveling  salesman 
for  paints,  varnishes,  wall  paper  and  window 
glass,  who  presented  his  card  at  once,  and 
wanted  to  talk  about  the  business  opportunities 

[57] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

of  the  camp.  Tommy  answered  him  politely  but 
in  monosyllables,  his  eyes  roving  toward  the 
table  at  his  right.  The  salesman  caught  one 
of  these  glances,  followed  it. 

' '  She 's  certainly  a  beaut ! "  he  said. 

Whereupon  Tommy  fell  into  a  grouchy 
silence,  refusing  answer  to  all  questions,  so  that 
the  salesman,  with  a  grunt,  settled  down  to 
perusal  of  the  Evening  Clarion.  Unembarrassed 
now  by  that  clacking  in  his  ears,  Tommy  could 
give  his  attention  to  the  conversation  at  the  next 
table,  could  eavesdrop  as  he  had  done  at  lunch- 
eon. But  they  were  speaking  in  low  tones. 
Small  wonder;  the  advent  of  these  two  exem- 
plars of  Eastern  fashion  had  been  in  that  camp 
— very  short  on  the  kind  of  women  one  is  sup- 
posed to  acknowledge  openly,  still  more  short 
on  beauty  and  fashion — a  suppressed  but  ex- 
citing sensation.  Not  a  motion  they  made  but 
drew  the  searching,  furtive  scrutiny  of  two  score 
masculine  eyes.  And  it  was  not  until  the  biscuit 
shooter  was  approaching  with  the  dried-apple 
pie  that  Tommy  got  anything  meant  distinctly 
for  him.  He  had  just  dared  one  of  his  veiled 
glances ;  and  the  girl,  who  had  been  avoiding  his 

[58] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

direct  looks  while  conveying  somehow  that  she 
was  conscious  of  them,  now  looked  him  a  mo- 
ment in  the  eye. 

And  he  heard  her  say,  "While  you're  out, 
mother,  I'll  just  read  in  the  ladies'  parlor. 
Somehow,  I  hate  our  room.  That  gray  wall 
paper  depresses  me." 

When,  half  an  hour  later,  Mrs.  Bates  left 
the  hotel  she  wore  an  inconspicuous  raincoat. 
Though  twilight  still  danced  with  rosy  feet 
among  the  peaks,  the  after-supper  life  of  the 
camp  had  begun.  Before  the  Black  Diamond 
Vaudeville  Theater  a  band  was  emitting,  with 
long  mournful  wails  of  the  saxophone,  Silver 
Threads  Among  the  Gold.  The  last  note  faded 
into  a  silence,  broken  a  moment  later  by  the 
band  of  the  Little  Casino,  far  down  the  street, 
attacking  the  lively  strains  of  Nancy  Lee.  The 
big  music  box  of  the  Arizona  House  bar  cut 
into  the  rests  with  the  metallic  notes  of  Over 
the  Garden  Wall.  The  board  sidewalks  were 
already  full,  so  that  pedestrians  in  a  hurry 
were  taking  to  the  unpaved  wagonway  between. 
Heavy  boots  made  a  clanking  upon  the  boards, 
a  bass  note  to  the  tenor  of  a  thousand  cheerful 

[59] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

voices.  Chips  were  already  clattering,  roulette 
wheels  whirring,  behind  the  swinging  doors  of 
the  gambling  halls.  Far  down  the  street  intent 
groups  clustered  about  tables  set  upon  the  edges 
of  the  sidewalk,  where  professional  gamblers, 
newly  arrived,  were  calling  out  the  allurements 
of  three-card  monte,  wheel  of  fortune  or  even 
faro. 

Mrs.  Bates  crossed  the  street,  attracting  more 
polite  curious  attention  than  would,  on  Fifth 
Avenue,  a  reigning  and  favorite  actress.  She 
was  quietly  reconnoitering,  while  seeming 
merely  to  glance  curiously  over  the  crowd. 
That  establishment  which  she  had  marked  with 
her  shrewd,  observing  eye  as  she  and  John  W. 
Sabin  started  on  their  drive,  lay  just  across  the 
street  from  the  districts  of  swinging  doors  and 
loud  music.  To  enter  it  from  Main  Street,  and 
at  that  hour,  would  be  a  proceeding  so  open 
that  she  might  as  well  publish  it  in  the  Evening 
Clarion.  Mrs.  Bates,  as  she  wandered,  assem- 
bled in  her  mind  her  lore  of  mining  camps. 
There  must  be  a  ladies '  entrance  somewhere  at 
the  rear. 

At  this  moment  a  newly  arrived  tenderfoot, 
[60] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

unused  to  the  combined  effects  of  red-eye 
whisky  and  altitude,  came  whooping  down  the 
street,  challenging  the  world  to  fight.  Laughter 
rippled  before  and  behind  him.  The  tenderfoot 
balanced  himself,  drew  his  side  arm  and  nour- 
ished it.  Half  a  dozen  sudden  Westerners 
sprang  from  the  crowd  on  the  instant,  fell  upon 
him,  disarmed  him.  The  laughter  increased  to 
a  continuous  roar. 

Mrs.  Bates,  standing  now  on  a  street  corner, 
reflected  that  this  was  the  appointed  moment 
when  she  would  be  free  from  observation. 
Swiftly  but  cannily  she  turned  into  the  shades 
of  Sixth  Street.  The  town  was  as  yet  without 
street  lights;  hence  its  hold-up  record.  Main 
Street  depended  for  night  illuminations  upon 
the  glare  from  the  uncurtained  windows  of 
dance  halls,  concert  halls  and  saloons.  Galena 
Avenue,  which  ran  past  the  new  Methodist 
Church,  would  in  another  half  hour  become 
blacker  than  a  pocket ;  and  the  Farren  gang  of 
footpads,  undeterred  by  the  lynching  last  month, 
would  be  plying  their  trade.  But  now  it  was 
possible  to  pick  one's  way  in  the  twilight. 

Mrs.  Bates  bent  her  course  toward  Eighth 

[61] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

Street,  turned,  stumbling  along  the  worn  wooden 
sidewalk  close  to  the  shadows  of  the  buildings, 
toward  Main  Street.  She  paused  before  a  plain 
board  sign,  scrutinized  it  in  the  twilight,  and 
nodded  as  with  mental  satisfaction.  " Ladies' 
Entrance,"  it  read.  She  darted  into  the  door 
beneath  the  sign,  groped  down  an  undecorated 
hallway  toward  a  quadrangle  of  light  which  out- 
lined a  carelessly  hung  door.  As  she  opened  it 
her  expression  gave  another  dart  of  satisfac- 
tion. She  had  not  until  that  moment  been  quite 
certain;  " Ladies'  Entrance"  might  mean  the 
way  to  most  embarrassing  places.  But  she  was 
in  a  little  square  room,  papered  with  news- 
papers and  furnished  with  a  long  counter  of 
unplaned  boards.  Behind  it  were  shelves  heaped 
with  packages  of  miscellaneous  sizes  wrapped 
in  newspapers.  From  hooks  along  the  top  row 
of  shelves  hung  a  row  of  violins,  guitars,  accor- 
dions and  other  silent  and  battered  musical 
instruments.  Across  the  farther  end  of  the 
room  hung  clothing,  both  male  and  female.  A 
small  showcase  on  the  counter  threw  back  the 
glitter  of  diamonds  against  the  beams  from  the 
reflector  of  the  big  oil  lamp. 

[62] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

A  small  man  with  black  curly  hair  topped  by 
a  skull  cap  was  asking,  "What  can  I  do  for  you, 
madam  ? ' ' 

Mrs.  Bates  seemed  to  hesitate. 

"I  suppose  business  here  is  strictly  confi- 
dential!" she  asked. 

"Strictly,"  said  the  little  man.  "We  ask  no 
questions  and  tell  no  tales. ' ' 

Mrs.  Bates  opened  her  purse.  "What  do  I 
get  on  that!" 

The  little  man  took  the  diamond  ring  she 
offered,  screwed  a  glass  into  his  accustomed 
eye,  and  asked,  "Pawn  or  sale?" 

"Pawn,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Bates.  "And 
I'll  tell  you  now,  the  last  time  I  hung  it  up  it 
brought  three  fifty. ' ' 

"Give  you  three  hundred,"  said  the  man. 
"Diamonds  is  going  down." 

' '  That 's  highway  robbery, ' '  began  Mrs.  Bates. 
"That's—" 

Just  then  a  heavy  step  sounded  on  the  rough 
floor  of  the  passage  without.  Mrs.  Bates  stood 
frozen  to  immobility.  But  this  intruder,  who- 
ever he  was,  seemed  merely  to  be  making  for 
another  door  farther  up  the  passage.  Hinges 

[63] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

creaked;  there  was  a  slamming;  the  footsteps 
ceased.  Mrs.  Bates'  color  began  to  return. 

She  spoke  instantly :  "  All  right.  Give  me  the 
money  and  the  ticket — quick ! ' ' 

When  Mrs.  Bates  returned  to  the  Marlbor- 
ough  she  was  carrying  a  large  parcel  wrapped 
in  brown  paper.  The  damaged  ball  gown  by 
now  lay  on  the  table  in  her  own  room.  She  tore 
open  a  corner  of  the  paper  parcel,  matched 
carefully,  in  the  light  of  the  oil  lamp,  the  color 
of  the  fabric  within  and  that  of  the  gathered 
silk  over  the  bustle  of  the  dress.  She  nodded 
with  satisfaction,  opened  her  sewing  case  and 
prepared  for  work.  Mrs.  Bates,  as  she  said, 
had  been  frank  with  John  W.  Sabin — as  far  as 
she  went.  The  most  important  thing  she  held 
back  from  him  was  that  in  this  dear  and  des- 
perate game  of  hers  she  was  playing  now  her 
last  stake. 

In  the  meantime  Tommy  had  conducted  a 
quiet  reconnoitering  expedition  of  his  own.  The 
ladies'  parlor  of  the  Marlborough  lay  just  be- 
hind the  main  lobby.  In  that  two-story,  board- 
and-shingle  structure,  already  gaping  at  the 

[641 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

joints  with  the  warping  of  its  hastily  sawn,  un- 
seasoned timbers,  this  little  apartment  had  been 
laid  out  as  one  of  the  ground-floor  bedrooms. 
John  W.  Sabin  had  ruled,  however,  that  pend- 
ing the  arrival  of  the  railroad  and  the  erection 
of  a  modern  brick  hotel,  the  temporary  Marl- 
borough  should  have  "all  the  dog  there  is"; 
hence  the  ladies'  parlor,  where  such  real  ladies 
as  visited  the  camp,  before  its  transformation 
into  a  metropolis  and  the  state  capital,  could 
receive  their  guests  in  conventionality  and  state. 
In  its  decorations  this  apartment  had  been 
especially  favored.  It  had  a  Brussels  carpet. 
Sometimes  when  the  weather  was  fresh  the 
mountain  wind  came  through  the  warping  ill- 
matched  boards  of  the  floor  and  bulged  out  this 
piece  of  decoration  like  a  sail  at  sea.  A  set  of 
white  Nottingham  curtains,  very  stiffly  starched 
though  by  now  a  little  dusty,  filtered  away  the 
more  garish  mountain  light  from  the  three 
gilded  chairs  finished  off  by  bows  of  pink  rib- 
bon. There  were  two  sofas.  One  was  of  plain 
black  haircloth,  the  other,  gilded  like  the  chairs, 
was  upholstered  in  pink-and-gold  rep  as  tightly 
as  a  pincushion,  so  that  it  seemed  always  about 

[65] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

to  burst  off  its  gilded  buttons.  Down  upon  this 
scene  looked  a  chromo  of  Ouster 's  Last  Charge, 
set  in  a  heavy  gilt  frame,  covered  against  the 
flies  with  white  mosquito  netting.  Adding  their 
touch  of  feminine  refinement  and  sentiment  were 
two  matched  colored  engravings  of  childish  inno- 
cence, entitled  Wide  Awake  and  Fast  Asleep. 
A  walnut  center  table,  its  heavy  red-and-brown 
cloth  dropping  little  wool  balls,  held  a  stere- 
opticon  with  views  of  the  Rockies  and  a  gilt- 
edged  book  entitled  Museum  of  Antiquity.  In 
the  corner  stood  a  base-burner  stove,  now  cold, 
trimmed  with  nickel  most  elegantly  sculptured, 
topped  with  a  bronze  knight  in  full  armor. 

Tommy,  scouting  out  the  approaches  like  a 
good  frontiersman,  observed  that  the  back  stair- 
way communicated  with  that  hallway  from 
which  opened  the  ladies'  parlor.  He  shrewdly 
guessed  that  his  lady  of  the  columbines  would 
avoid  publicity  by  taking  that  route.  So  he 
established  himself  in  the  lobby,  where  he 
loafed  away  an  interminable  half  hour,  until 
Mrs.  Bates  crossed  the  space  between  the  main 
stairway  and  the  front  door  and  disappeared. 
For  another  eternal  interval — at  least  three 

[66] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

minutes — he  restrained  himself,  then  quietly 
crossed  the  lobby,  sidled  through  the  rear  en- 
trance and  furtively  took  his  way  past  the  open 
door  of  the  ladies'  parlor. 

He  was  not  disappointed.  The  full  beam  from 
the  reflector  of  an  oil  lamp  in  the  hall  made 
lights  on  the  sheen  of  her  black  hair.  She  sat 
on  the  gilded  sofa,  fully  revealed  in  the  spot- 
light of  the  reflector — sat  with  her  hands  folded 
on  the  paper-covered  novel  in  her  lap.  She  was 
wearing  something  which  made  him  feel  that 
she  was  clad  in  spun  sugar  candy;  a  woman 
would  have  described  it  as  a  dotted-Swiss  mull 
with  salmon  trimmings  and  sash.  She  was  not 
reading ;  her  eyes  met  his  frankly.  He  had  been 
trying  to  hit  upon  some  device  for  invading  her 
privacy,  had  mixed  up  his  mind  between  six  or 
seven  inventions,  and  found  himself  at  this,  the 
moment  of  action,  tongue-tied.  So  without  a 
word  he  entered,  did  it  as  simply  and  naturally 
as  though  he  had  come  by  appointment.  He 
stood  at  the  height  of  his  full  five  feet  eleven, 
looking  down  on  her  with  eyes  soft  yet  intent. 
And  an  expression  he  did  not  at  the  moment 
fathom  flicked  across  her  dark  eyes.  It  held  a 

[67] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

suggestion  of  fear,  a  shade  of  panic.  Then  she 
dropped  her  gaze. 

"Sit  down,"  she  said;  and  her  voice  was  very 
low. 

Tommy  let  himself  down  delicately  on  one  of 
the  frail,  gilded,  beribboned  chairs,  as  though 
he  expected  it  to  break  beneath  him.  To  his 
surprise,  it  held.  When  she  spoke  again  her 
voice  rang  with  its  natural  music. 

* '  Tell  me  about  yourself ! ' '  she  ordered. 

"Well,"  replied  Tommy,  "I  guess  I  told  you 
this  afternoon  about  all  there  was  to  tell.  Cow- 
punching,  freighting,  and  now  grubstaking — " 

"Not  that,"  she  said  with  a  pretty  little  out- 
ward gesture  of  her  hand;  "though  I'm  sure 
you  could  tell  me  of  some  wonderful  adventures. 
But  what  you  want  to  do — what  you'd  like  to 
be!" 

The  life  into  which  she  was  inquiring  had 
been  passed  not  in  contemplation  and  self- 
analysis  but  in  action ;  and  Tommy  hesitated  on 
his  answer. 

"Well, ' '  he  said, ' ' I  guess  I 'd  like  to  make  my 
stake,  of  course — and  the  Big  Hope  is  a  likely 
prospect.  And  then  I  'd  fix  up  mother — she  lives 

[68] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

with  my  married  sister  in  Iowa — and  then  I 
guess  I  'd  like  to  travel,  see  the  East  and  Europe. 
But  I  wouldn't  want  to  stay  in  the  East,"  he 
added  hastily.  * '  Out  here  growing  up  with  the 
country  is  good  enough  for  me. ' ' 

"I  like  that  in  you,"  she  said,  turning  the  sub- 
ject unaccountably.  "It  must  be  wonderful  to 
be  free — to  go  where  you  wish — to  have  no 
bonds ! ' ' 

She  had  leaned  forward  with  the  intensity  of 
some  new  sudden  emotion,  clasped  her  slender 
hands  in  her  lap. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  I  can  do  pretty  much  as  I 
want,"  said  Tommy;  then,  perceiving  somehow 
that  he  was  on  the  wrong  track,  he  spoke  with 
his  own  simple  directness:  "Aren't  you  free?" 
he  asked. 

"Is  a  woman  ever  free?"  she  countered. 
"Oh,  it  would  be  wonderful,"  she  went  on,  "to 
burst  these  bonds,  to  live  out  here  where  I  was 
born — simply.  Do  you  know  what  I  was  think- 
ing to-night  ?  I  envied  the  little  waitress  at  our 
table.  She  is  working  for  a  living.  She  is  doing 
as  she  pleases — so  far  as  woman  ever  does." 
She  stopped  here. 

[69] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

what  is  holding  you?"  said  Tommy 
with  his  own  simple  directness.  '  *  Can  I  help  1 ' ' 

"I'm  afraid  no  one  can  help,"  she  said,  "but 
it's  good  of  you  to  offer.  There  now,  I've  said 
enough  about  myself.  Tell  me  about  your  days 
as  a  cowboy.  I  don't  know  anything  about  the 
cattle  range.  Were  you  ever  in  a  stampede  I ' ' 

Her  expression,  her  pose,  were  animated 
again.  And  Tommy,  with  that  sense  of  direct 
vivid  narrative  universal  in  the  old  West, 
plunged  at  once  into  the  tale  of  the  time  when 
a  thunderclap  set  'em  off  in  the  White  River 
country.  But  as  the  tale  proceeded  toward  its 
climax — wherein  he  was  caught  in  a  rocky  gut, 
with  the  cattle  piling  up  against  him  and  his 
bronco — he  began  to  run  down  and  to  lose  in- 
terest from  lack  of  interest  on  the  part  of  his 
auditor.  The  light  had  been  gradually  going 
from  her  eyes.  Now  they  met  his  no  more; 
they  searched  the  shadows  under  the  oil  lamp 
in  the  hall.  He  stopped  his  narrative  abruptly. 

"Say,  is  there  anything  I  can  do  to  help 
you?"  he  interrupted  himself.  "Anything?" 
He  repeated  this  last  word  with  all  the  emphasis 
he  could  command. 

[70] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

She  rose  at  this,  the  cloud  of  gathered  muslin 
above  her  bustle  seeming  to  whisper  daintiness 
as  she  went  to  the  window,  parted  the  lace  cur- 
tains and  looked  out  on  the  scattered  lights  dot- 
ting the  twilight.  He  rose,  too,  and  was  begin- 
ning as  though  drawn  by  a  magnet  a  step  toward 
her  when  she  turned  back,  seated  herself  with 
the  pretty  rustling  and  nutter  of  a  full  branch 
settling  in  the  wind.  But  he  remained  for  a 
time  standing. 

"To  think,"  she  said,  "that  I've  known  you 
less  than  a  day  and  I  am  talking  to  you  like 
this.  It 's  a  proof  of  my  desperation,  I  suppose. 
What  right  have  I?" 

* '  You  Ve  got  every  right  there  is, ' '  said  he. 

And  he  might  have  said  more  had  she  not  cut 
in  immediately  with:  "No  one  has  a  right  to 
thrust  his  troubles  on  a  stranger." 

"I  wonder  if  we  are  strangers,"  he  said. 

"I  wonder,"  said  she.  But  the  light  glance 
with  which  she  said  this  lasted  only  a  moment, 
and  again  the  shade  fell  upon  her  expression. 
"Suppose,"  she  said,  low  and  deliberately, 
"that  I  told  you  that  in  this  next  week — and  I 
shall  be  in  Carbonado  only  a  week — I  am  going 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

to  face  the  climax  of  my  life — a  very  hopeless 
climax  too.  For  there  is  only  one  way  out,  I 
imagine. ' ' 

"  There  are  always  two  ways  out  of  every- 
thing." 

"Yes,  one  can  always  kill  herself." 

"You  don't  mean  that!" 

"No,  of  course  I  don't  mean  that.  It's  one 
of  the  things  you  just  think  about  and  don 't  do. 
I  hope  I'm  not  a  coward.  I  can  face  it,  and 
when  it's  done  people  will  say  I'm  lucky." 

Tommy  cleared  his  throat  inelegantly  before 
he  clove  nearer  to  the  heart  of  the  subject. 

"It's  a  case  of — of  thinking  about — getting 
married,  I  guess." 

"You  have  wonderful  intuitions,  don't  you? 
Yes,  and  if  I  could  only  do  it  of  my  own  free 
choice!  If  I  could  say  I  will  sacrifice  myself 
because  it  is  my  duty !  But  to  be  told  I  must ! ' ' 

The  idea  that  flashed  into  Tommy's  sudden 
young  Western  mind  at  that  moment  was  so 
overwhelming  in  its  daring,  its  rapture  and  its 
perils  that  it  sent  the  blood  rushing  to  his  head, 
blinded  his  vision,  tied  his  tongue.  Before  he 
could  give  it  any  more  expression  than  showed 

[72] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

in  his  countenance  the  girl's  own  countenance 
had  changed.  Some  panic,  some  dart  of  fear, 
had  opened  her  lips  so  that  her  white  teeth 
flashed  in  the  lamplight,  had  widened  her  eyes. 
And  she  rose  as  easily  and  as  swiftly  as  a  bird 
taking  flight. 

"I  must  go!"  she  said.  "Even  this  is  dis- 
obedient. No  one  ever  uses  that  word  'obedient' 
to  you — but  I "  She  gathered  up  her  book. 

But  Tommy,  though  he  had  lost  the  moment 
of  splendid  action,  retained  a  little  of  the  bold- 
ness that  had  so  suddenly  ebbed  and  flowed  over 
his  spirit. 

"When  shall  I  see  you  again?"  he  asked,  tak- 
ing a  step  nearer.  She  retreated  her  own  step 
before  answering. 

"I  don't  know.  Every  moment  to-morrow  is 
taken  up — I  live  my  life  by  a  program — I'm 
watched  all  the  time — perhaps  the  opportunity 
will  come " 

"I  want  to  help,"  he  said.  "Fve  got  to  help. 
I-  -" 

But  whatever  words  he  was  going  to  say 
were  drowned  by  her  interrupting,  * '  Thank  you 
— oh,  thank  you ! ' ' 

[73] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

And  she  was  gone,  leaving  a  faint,  indefinably 
delicious  fragrance  to  flavor  the  scent  of  new- 
sawn  pine  given  forth  by  the  Marlborough 's 
unseasoned  timbers. 


[74] 


CHAPTER  VII 

ACTION  is  the  remedy  for  all  sickness  of 
the  spirit  in  youth.  To  Tommy,  moon- 
ing alone  next  evening  in  the  Arizona 
House  after  a  day  blessed  by  no  more  than  a 
glimpse  at  his  lady  of  the  columbines,  action 
arrived  on  the  wings  of  salvation.  The  bell  in 
the  new  pine  steeple  of  the  Methodist  Church 
suddenly  began  to  peal,  not  dolefully  as  for 
services,  but  with  the  quick  staccato  rhythm  of 
a  tocsin.  This,  the  only  bell  in  camp,  hauled 
over  the  peaks  by  ten  mules,  installed  with  ap- 
propriate ceremony,  did  double  duty  as  a  fire 
alarm. 

The  Arizona  House  voided  itself  instantly 
to  Main  Street.  Down  toward  the  hill  a  blaze  of 
garish  light  spotted  the  dead  blackness  of  a 
moonless  mountain  sky.  It  illuminated  the  bob- 
bing heads  of  all  Carbonado,  pouring  out  from 
whatever  diversion  it  was  pursuing,  to  join  in 
the  excitement.  Spruce  gamblers  in  black  hats 
ran  beside  miners  in  blue  overalls;  women 

[75] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

dressed  in  the  modesty  of  bonnet,  shawl  and 
mantle  beside  women  in  short  pink  skirts  or 
in  Mother  Hubbard  wrappers. 

Tommy,  sprinting  forward  ahead  of  the 
crowd,  heard  someone  calling,  "It's  Sipple's 
store ! ' '  This,  he  reflected  as  he  ran,  would  be 
a  big  loss  to  the  camp;  Sipple's,  painfully 
stocked  by  freight  wagon,  was  the  one  dry-goods 
store  as  well  as  the  great  general  grocery  for 
Carbonado. 

"It's  next  to  Sipple's!"  came  another  voice. 
At  that  moment  he  was  aware  of  a  gong  clamor- 
ing behind  him,  and  stopped  to  watch  the  ma- 
jestic, exciting  passage  of  John  W.  Sabin  Hose 
No.  1.  It  was  as  yet  a  hose  team  only  by 
interpretation  of  hope.  The  town  was  waiting 
the  arrival  of  the  railroad  to  put  in  its  long- 
projected  water  mains.  For  the  present  tank 
wagons  plied  between  Bear  Creek  and  the  camp, 
doling  out  domestic  supplies  into  whisky  bar- 
rels. But,  omitting  the  hose,  the  outfit  was 
complete ;  John  W.  Sabin  had  seen  to  that.  The 
eight-man  team  sprinted  in  red  leather  helmets 
and  red  shirts,  Sandy  McNutt,  champion  runner 
of  the  camp,  loping  on  before.  The  nozzleman, 

[76] 


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ii 

0     0 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

running  in  good  order  behind  the  outfit,  had  as 
yet  no  machinery  for  plying  his  art ;  he  was  con- 
cerning himself  with  keeping  the  leather  buckets 
on  their  hooks  and  in  dodging  the  water  which 
slopped  from  the  barrel  occupying  that  place 
where  a  reel  of  hose  was  some  day  to  stand. 

Beside  the  team  ran  John  W.  Sabin  himself, 
puffing  stertorously,  but  making  a  fine  effort  for 
a  middle-aged  man.  He  had  not  found  time  to 
put  on  a  red  shirt,  but  he  wore  the  splendid  red- 
and-gold  helmet  of  authority,  and  he  waved  a 
bronze  speaking  trumpet.  Like  outriders  ran 
Jim  Dugald,  city  marshal,  and  two  deputies, 
their  black,  corded  Gr.  A.  R.  hats  marking  their 
authority.  They  were  waving  their  formidable 
forty-five-caliber  revolvers  as  a  warning  to  all 
and  sundry  who  would  interfere  with  the  fire 
department. 

Tommy  did  not  wait  to  see  the  passage  of 
the  distanced  John  W.  Sabin  Hook  and  Ladder 
No.  2,  whose  gong  was  sounding  far  down  the 
street.  He  fell  in  beside  the  hose  company, 
sprinting  with  them.  He  could  see  the  situation 
now.  Three  cabins,  only  a  vacant  lot  away 
from  Sipple  's,  were  roaring  furnaces.  Another 

[77] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

just  beyond  was  breaking  into  flames.  The 
crowd  before  the  fire  fell  open  at  the  clang  of  the 
gong  and  the  menacing  shouts  of  Jim  Dugald; 
the  hose  team  curved  to  a  graceful  stop,  and  its 
puffing  steeds  set  themselves  to  unstrip 
buckets. 

"You  can't  save  them  cabins,"  roared  John 
W.  Sabin.  "Wind's  shifting  —  bucket  chain, 
boys,  and  rustle !  Root  hog  or  die ! ' ' 

The  hook  and  ladder  had  now  curved  into 
position.  As  John  W.  Sabin  said,  the  wind  was 
shifting.  Sparks  began  to  batter  upon  the  dry 
inflammable  clapboards  of  the  big  store.  Up 
went  the  ladders;  up  clambered  the  bucket 
chain.  A  shout  from  the  crowd  hailed  the  ar- 
rival of  a  water  wagon,  another  that  of  an 
express  wagon  laden  with  two  slopping  whiskey 
barrels. 

John  W.  Sabin  mounted  the  lowest  rung  of  a 
ladder. 

"Water  —  all  the  water  ye  can  git!"  he 
bellowed  through  his  speaking  trumpet  at  the 
crowd.  In  buckets,  in  more  whisky  barrels,  in 
pans,  the  water  began  to  arrive. 

The  red-hatted  firemen  monopolized  the  posi- 

[78] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

tions  on  the  ladders  and  roof  and  at  the  win- 
dows of  Sipple's  store.  Certain  plain  citizens 
not  in  uniform  rushed  forward  to  help;  they 
were  driven  back  by  the  menace  and  majesty  of 
Marshal  Jim  Dugald,  established  at  the  foot  of 
the  ladder.  Tommy,  who  had  been  among  these, 
joined  a  group  of  plain  ununiformed  miners 
filling  and  passing  buckets  from  the  whisky  bar- 
rels, and  set  violently  to  work.  As  they  puffed, 
grunted  and  wielded  buckets  the  miners  gos- 
siped among  themselves. 

"Started  in  Old  Calamity's  cabin,  I  hear," 
said  one  of  them.  '  *  He  was  biled  proper  before 
supper.  Bet  he  kicked  over  his  coal-oil  lamp." 

"Jest  as  well  shet  of  him,"  commented  an- 
other. Then  he  paused,  his  bucket  poised  at  the 
edge  of  the  whisky  barrel.  "Say,  did  he  git 
out?  Has  anybody  seen  Old  Calamity?" 

"Bet  you  he  didn't,"  said  Tommy,  thrilled  by 
the  prospect  of  action,  and  already  bored  with 
passing  buckets.  "Let's  look!" 

Forthwith  that  squad  dropped  buckets  and 
pans,  to  be  replaced  by  eager  volunteers  from 
the  crowd.  Tommy,  sprinting  out  before, 
rounded  the  burning  cabins,  the  middle  one  in 

[79] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

the  group  of  three  now  fallen  to  a  bright  fur- 
nace. The  shift  of  wind,  which  was  blowing 
sparks  in  showers  against  Sipple's  store,  made 
them  approachable  from  the  rear.  Tommy 
vaulted  the  palisade  fence,  still  unburned,  which 
set  off  the  yard  of  the  cabin  at  the  right,  ap- 
proached as  near  as  the  heat  allowed.  Cer- 
tainly, he  reflected,  if  that  notorious  town  drunk- 
ard, Old  Calamity — so  called  because  of  his  loud 
pessimism  when  drunk — were  in  there  now,  it 
was  an  end  of  him. 

Tommy  by  now  had  lost  his  companions ;  he 
was  turning  back  to  find  them  when  he  nearly 
stumbled  over  what  appeared  like  a  bundle  of 
rags  against  the  fence.  A  rising  spurt  of  the 
flame  revealed  the  bloated  unshaven  face  and 
bald  head  of  Old  Calamity,  lying  inert.  Tommy 
stooped  down.  It  was  impossible,  what  with 
the  crackling  of  the  fires  and  the  roar  of  the 
crowd,  to  find  if  he  were  still  breathing,  but 
something  about  the  feeling  of  him  told  Tom- 
my's intuitions  that  he  was  alive. 

Just  then  the  cutting,  uncertain  wind  of  the 
peaks  veered  again;  sparks  preceded  by  chok- 
ing smoke  began  to  blow  in  his  direction.  Where- 

[80] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

upon  Tommy  kicked  open  the  door  of  the  pali- 
sade fence,  gathered  in  his  arms  the  unsavory 
upper  parts  of  Old  Calamity,  and  half  carried, 
half  dragged  him  round  the  fire  toward  the 
crowd,  where  someone  more  expert  on  smoke 
asphyxiation  than  he  might  attend  to  the  case. 
As  he  made  his  last  turn  the  wind  gave  another 
whirl  and  shift.  Smoke  and  sparks  blew  across 
his  course  for  a  moment,  so  that  he  emerged 
coughing. 

In  the  meantime,  Mrs.  Bates  and  her  daugh- 
ter had  been  dining  with  John  W.  Sabin  at  the 
newly  opened  Maison  Biche  Restaurant,  on  Main 
Street — dining  in  exceptional  state  and  luxury. 
A  wagonload  of  canned  cove  oysters  had  arrived 
in  camp  that  afternoon;  the  first  fruits  of  this 
consignment  came  to  John  W.'s  special  table. 
Moreover,  Steinlen,  the  butcher,  had  just  cut 
up  a  cinnamon  bear,  killed  a  day  before  at  Cop- 
per Lake.  The  choicest  steaks  had  been  sent 
to  John  W.  with  Mr.  Steinlen 's  compliments. 
Finishing  off  this  luxurious  feast  was  cherry 
pie,  made,  as  John  "W.  particularly  explained, 
not  from  canned  cherries  but  from  a  box  of  fresh 

[81] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

ones — the  genuine  California  product — the  first 
ever  to  arrive  in  camp. 

They  were  lingering  over  the  cherry  pie 
when  the  stern  tocsin  of  the  Methodist  Church 
sounded  the  alarm. 

Waiting  only  to  assure  the  ladies  that  he 
would  see  them  after  the  fire  was  out,  and  to 
put  them  in  the  care  of  Bill  Duffy,  the  pro- 
prietor, John  W.  Sabin  had  sped  to  the  fire- 
house  and  action.  But  every  moment  the  clamor 
grew  louder  and  louder,  the  shuffling,  trampling 
feet  outside  sounded  a  more  rapid  beat. 

An  excited  voice  from  the  crowd  came  in  at 
the  open  door,  where  the  waiters  were  gath- 
ered :  '  *  The  hull  camp 's  goin ' ! " 

At  this  Mrs.  Bates  could  restrain  her  human 
curiosity  no  longer. 

"Come  on,  Nellie!"  she  said,  and  reached  for 
her  mantle. 

They  would  have  been  blocked  by  the  crowd 
a  hundred  yards  away  had  not  Deputy  Marshal 
Simpson  spied  them.  He  was  thinning  out  the 
rear  ranks,  and  he  was  not  unaware  of  the  favor 
of  these  two  in  the  eyes  of  John  W.  Sabin.  He 
took  them  in  hand,  cleared  majestically  a  way 

[82] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

for  them,  set  them  in  the  front  ranks  as  near  the 
smoke  and  flame  as  safety  allowed,  and  just 
where  they  could  behold  the  expert  work  of  the 
fire  companies.  Being  only  a  male  man,  with 
the  gallantry  but  also  the  stupid  inconsiderate- 
ness  of  that  species,  he  failed  to  notice  their 
environment.  He  had  dropped  them  down,  in 
fact,  near  a  group  of  three  other  women,  hat- 
less,  painted,  the  youngest  in  pink  skirts,  high- 
heeled  pink  shoes  and  very  low  corsage;  the 
others  in  shawls  thrown  over  fat  shoulders  and 
Mother  Hubbard  wrappers.  At  the  moment 
they  were  silent,  watching  fire  and  firemen  with 
eyes  that  showed  hard  amusement.  However, 
Mrs.  Bates  being  experienced  in  mining  camps, 
found  herself  dreading  the  time  when  conversa- 
tion should  begin. 

* '  This  way,  dear, ' '  she  began,  and  was  already 
edging  her  charge  out  from  the  forefront  of  the 
crowd  when  a  louder  clamor  of  voices  heralded 
a  new  excitement. 

The  two  ladies  turned  toward  that  point  indi- 
cated by  all  eyes  and  gestures.  And  this  is 
what  they  saw :  Out  of  the  smoke  screen  before 
them  staggered  a  man,  young  and  stalwart,  as 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

his  motion  showed.  He  was  carrying  in  his 
arms  another  man,  whose  feet  dragged  and 
bumped  as  they  proceeded,  whose  head  lolled 
weakly,  inertly,  against  his  shoulder.  He 
seemed,  as  he  emerged  into  view,  to  stagger  with 
the  weight,  and  he  emitted  a  choking  cough.  At 
a  point  not  ten  yards  away  from  the  little 
pointed  feet  of  the  Bates  ladies  he  stopped  as 
though  exhausted,  dropped  his  man,  who  flopped 
like  a  half -filled  sack,  and  stood  coughing  vio- 
lently again.  That  was  the  affair  as  the  crowd 
saw  it,  including  Nellie  Bates.  At  the  moment 
when  the  young  rescuer  stood  erect  and  faced 
them  she  emitted  a  little  * '  Oh  "  which  had  more 
in  it  than  fright  and  surprise.  Her  mother 
turned  quickly  upon  her. 

1 ' It's  all  right,  Nellie";  and  then:  "Oh,  the 
ninnies ! ' '  For  the  crowd,  having  taken  in  this 
tableau,  was  running  toward  the  group  so  dra- 
matically outlined  against  the  flames,  was  press- 
ing and  shoving  so  that  the  ladies  involuntarily 
went  forward.  But  almost  as  soon  John  W. 
Sabin  was  on  the  scene ;  he  and  Jim  Dugald,  the 
law  in  Carbonado,  had  pushed  a  way  and  were 

[84] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

yelling  in  commanding  tones,  ' '  Get  back — all  of 
you — get  back ! ' ' 

The  crowd  gave  way. 

"Is  there  a  doctor  present?"  came  in  John 
W.'s  stentorian  tones  from  the  speaking 
trumpet. 

No  answer  for  a  moment,  then  shouts  for 
Doctor  Jones;  then  a  voice  bawling,  "I  seen 
him  start  for  Pine  Gulch!" 

1 1  Never  mind  a  doctor — I  know  what  to  do, ' ' 
said  a  confident  feminine  voice  at  the  elbow  of 
John  W.  Sabin.  He  turned,  to  behold  Mrs. 
Bates,  who  had  already  thrown  off  her  mantle, 
was  tossing  it  and  her  long  gloves  to  Nellie. 
She  leaned  over  Old  Calamity,  John  W.  and 
Jim  Dugald  pushing,  commanding,  threatening 
the  crowd  back  from  her.  By  this  time  John 
W.  was  plainly  second  in  command ;  Mrs.  Bates 
somehow  dominated  the  drama.  With  surpris- 
ing deftness  she  turned  the  victim  over  on  his 
back. 

"That's   right,"   she   said   as   she   worked; 
"keep  'em  off  us  and  give  him  air." 
£  She  felt  for  the  pulse  of  the  inert  Old  Calam- 

[85] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

ity;  she  knelt  down  and  applied  an  ear  to  his 
chest. 

1 1  Still  going, ' '  she  announced  briefly  to  John 
W.  Sabin,  who,  leaving  Jim  to  hold  back  the 
space  they  had  won,  now  stepped  up  and  leaned 
over  beside  her.  "Does  this  man  drink  I" 

' '  Like  a  fish.    Like ' '  began  John  W. 

"Thought  so,  the  way  he  smells,"  said  Mrs. 
Bates.  "No  telling  if  it's  smoke  that's  troub- 
ling him  or  just  plain  drunk.  But  he's  alive. 
Well,  we'll  take  no  chances  with  smoke.  Two 
of  you — that  man  there,  and  that  man — come 
here.  Boll  him  on  his  face — that 's  right.  Now 
you  lift  his  shoulders  and  I'll  press." 

In  the  meantime  he  who  had  been  but  a  min- 
ute before  the  central  figure  of  the  occasion 
stood  to  one  side,  watching  not  the  drama  on 
the  ground  but  Nellie,  who  stood  behind  her 
mother  dutifully  holding  the  mantle  and  gloves. 
And  she  was  not  looking  at  her  mother,  but  on 
him.  They  approached  each  other  as  they 
looked,  walking  with  slow,  unconscious  steps  as 
sleepwalkers  move  on  the  stage.  They  were 
close,  and  face  to  face  now;  and  just  then  the 
crowd,  having  recovered  from  its  awe  of  the 

[86] 


Without  Effort  of  His  Will  —  for  Will  Had  Nothing 
to  Do  With  it  —  His  Arm  Went  Round  Her 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

village  magnate  and  the  minion  of  the  law,  gave 
a  thrust  forward,  coming  between  them  and  the 
group  on  the  ground.  Unresisting,  they  were 
forced  still  farther  and  farther  back.  He  had 
caught  her  under  the  arm,  supporting  her 
against  this  rough  jostling.  As  the  outskirts 
of  the  crowd,  composed  of  the  very  young  and 
excited,  pushed  past  them,  he  found  her  shrink- 
ing close  to  him. 

Without  effort  of  his  will — for  will  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  it — his  arm  went  round  her.  So 
they  found  themselves  on  that  side  of  Sipple's 
store  which  stood  out  of  danger,  and  about 
which  the  blaze  threw  a  black  shadow.  Now, 
his  arm  still  supporting  her,  she  looked  up  at 
him  in  the  shadow. 

"Oh,  are  you  hurt?"  she  asked  in  a  tender 
whisper.  '  *  You  coughed  so ! " 

"Not  a  bit,"  he  managed  to  say  through  the 
panting  of  his  breath  and  the  beating  of  his 
heart.  "It  wasn't  anything — just  carried  him 
round  the  house." 

"Nothing?"  she  said,  very  low  and  sweet. 
"Nothing — to  break  through  the  flames  and  res- 
cue an  old  man?  Heroes  are  always  modest." 

[87] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

He  was  going  to  tell  her  the  truth,  such  being 
his  instinct  at  all  times.  If  he  did  not  it  was 
because  a  thing  most  unaccountable  happened 
to  him,  so  that  all  the  rest  of  his  life  he  was 
to  marvel  at  it.  The  little  truth  he  was  going 
to  tell  surged  and  merged  into  a  greater  truth 
— into  truth  universal,  wherein  soul  holds  back 
nothing  from  soul.  For  the  swift  beating  in 
his  blood  had  risen  to  an  unbearable  speed ;  his 
vision  swam  in  red ;  and  a  very  ecstasy  of  daring 
made  a  kind  of  brilliant  warmth  in  all  his  being. 

"God — I  love  you — how  I  love  you — I  love 
you ! ' ' 

And  with  this  explosion  the  hot  flood  in  his 
veins  seemed  to  recede,  to  end  as  suddenly  as 
it  had  begun.  Into  its  place  began  to  creep  a 
chilling  sense  that  he  had  spoiled  everything 
Yet  she,  half  supporting  herself  on  his  arm,  did 
not  withdraw  herself,  did  not  even  sway  back- 
ward from  him. 

And  now  she  spoke  on  the  intake  of  a  long 
sigh :  '  *  Then  kiss  me,  my  hero — kiss  me ! " 

They  came  presently  out  of  the  shadows, 
flushed  and  with  downcast  looks;  she,  indeed, 
controlling  a  quivering  of  all  her  limbs,  he  with 

[88] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

eyes  that  seemed  to  have  looked  on  miracles. 
For  no  sooner  had  they  kissed  than  she  had 
drawn  back,  saying,  "People  must  not  find  us 
this  way. ' '  But  they  had  kissed  again  and  mur- 
mured wild  nothings  before  they  came  out  into 
the  light. 

The  burning  cabins  had  settled  down  now 
from  a  pink  glow  to  a  deep  red.  The  firemen, 
having  wet  down  the  roof  and  the  exposed  side 
of  Sipple  's  store,  were  simply  killing  occasional 
sparks.  The  crowd,  its  first  excitement  passed, 
was  fast  thinning  out  and  returning  to  the  vari- 
ous lurid  diversions  of  night  life.  But  one  group 
remained,  clustered  about  Sam  Haney's  express 
wagon.  John  W.  Sabin,  his  chief's  hat  on  the 
back  of  his  head,  was  helping  Jim  Dugald  to  de- 
posit Old  Calamity  in  the  wagon  bed.  Mrs. 
Bates,  still  plainly  in  command  of  the  operation, 
was  covering  him  with  gunny  sacks  which  Sam 
Haney  employed  to  keep  boxes  from  bump- 
ing, was  tucking  him  in  with  a  touch  almost 
motherly. 

"  There — roll  him  into  a  bunk  and  let  him 
sleep  it  off,"  she  was  saying.  "It  was  mostly 
plain,  paralyzed  drunk,  I'm  certain  of  that,  but 

[89] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

maybe  he  took  aboard  a  little  smoke.  Where's 
Nellie?  Oh,  yes,  one  of  you  lay  for  the  doctor 
and  have  him  look  this  drunk  over  when  he  gets 
back.  His  heart's  working  all  right,  but  you 
can't  make  too  certain." 

Nellie  was  so  far  away  at  this  moment  that 
she  could  not  hear  her  mother 's  call,  but  she  did 
see  the  raising  of  the  figure,  the  turn  of  the  head 
and  the  gesture  that  accompanied  it. 

"I  must  go  now — dear — dearest — columbine 
boy!"  she  whispered. 

He  was  controlling  his  voice  to  ask  when  he 
might  see  her  again;  but  she  anticipated  that. 

"Come  to  the  Firemen's  Ball  to-morrow 
night,"  she  said.  "Remember,  I  will  save  you 
dances — good  night,  love!" 

He  watched  her  tripping  at  a  run  through  the 
flickering  shadows,  seeming  to  move  as  lightly 
and  as  mystically  as  they.  The  express  wagon 
was  just  rumbling  away  when  she  reached  her 
mother's  side. 

"Well,  wherever  have  you  been,  Nellie?" 
she  asked  a  little  sharply;  and  then  her  tone 
softened  as  John  W.  Sabin  turned  toward  her. 
"Give  me  my  mantle,  dear!  Br-r!  These  nights 

[90] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

are  chilly!  I've  got  to  go  back  to  the  hotel,  Mr. 
Sabin,  and  clean  up.  My  hands  smell  like  a 
saloon. ' ' 

John  W.  Sabin  regarded  the  young  girl  with 
a  smile  that  softened  the  outlines  of  his  sea-lion 
mustache,  the  cinder-blackened  creases  of  his 
face. 

"I'll  tell  you  one  thing,  Miss  Nellie  Bates," 
he  said,  "you've  got  a  mother  to  be  proud  of! 
For  a  cinch  you  have.  A  natural-born  doctor, 
that's  what  she  is.  Never  saw  anything 
handled  better." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Bates  modestly  as  she 
settled  into  her  mantle  and  patted  to  place  a 
strayed  friz  of  her  black  hair, ' '  I  ought  to  know 
how  to  handle  drunks.  Had  enough  exper- 
ience. ' '  She  stopped  there,  as  though  reflecting 
that  others  were  listening,  and  that  she  was 
marring  her  picture  of  the  perfect  lady  in  a 
rough  camp.  "If  you'll  accompany  us  to  the 
hotel,  Mr.  Sabin, ' '  she  added,  falling  back  grace- 
fully into  the  pose,  "we'll  rejoin  you  after  I've 
made  myself  tidy. ' ' 

As  they  passed  down  the  street  Nellie  fell  a 
little  behind  her  mother  and  searched  with  her 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

eyes.  He  was  still  standing  where  she  had  left 
him.  For  an  instant  a  flash  of  the  dying  flame 
lit  up  his  face.  He  was  watching  her,  seeming 
to  look  over  the  head  of  a  little  man  who  stood 
writing  on  a  paper  pad.  The  light  died  out  and 
she  dared  no  longer  look  back. 

Tommy  was,  in  fact,  sustaining  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  the  annoyance  of  being  inter- 
viewed for  the  public  press.  Solly  Watrous, 
city  editor  and  entire  reportorial  corps  for  the 
Carbonado  Clarion,  had  been  yearning  for  a  new 
local  sensation.  Murders  had  become  too  trag- 
ically common.  Though  he  splashed  their  gory 
details  all  over  his  front  page  he  did  it  by  now 
perfunctorily.  As  for  holdups,  they  were  so 
many  and  so  much  alike  in  detail  that  he  lumped 
them  off  in  one-line  items  under  the  heading 
The  Footpad  Becord.  The  lynching  a  month 
before  had  given  some  play  to  his  art;  since 
then  nothing  had  happened  so  promising  as 
this  fire  and  the  dazzling  rescue,  which  he  had 
seen  with  his  own  eyes.  Waiting  only  to  assure 
himself  that  Old  Calamity  was  going  to  pull 
through,  and  to  make  notes  on  the  work  of  Mrs. 
Bates,  he  had  started  a  search  for  the  unknown 

[92! 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

hero,  whom  presently  he  found  standing  in  the 
shadow  of  Sipple  's  regarding  the  dying  fire. 

"I  want  your  name  and  address,  young 
fellow, ' '  he  said,  poising  a  pencil  above  a  wad 
of  folded  paper.  * '  You  're  the  man  who  rescued 
Old  Calamity." 

"I  didn't  do  anything  special,"  said  Tommy 
rather  absently,  for  his  eyes  were  wandering 
ever  the  head  of  Solly  Watrous  to  the  group 
round  the  express  wagon. 

1  'Fine!"  said  Solly,  making  notes  furiously. 
"It's  your  play  to  say  that.  How  did  you  get 
to  him?  Beat  in  the  flaming  back  door?  And 
did  you  remember  that  the  way  to  get  through 
a  fire  is  to  crawl  close  to  the  ground  ? ' ' 

For  the  second  time  in  ten  minutes  Tommy 
walked  up  close  to  the  truth,  and  then  walked 
away.  The  passage  of  the  emotional  storm 
within  him,  the  arrival  of  a  great  unexpected 
happiness,  had  left  a  furious  mental  whirl, 
wherein  he  could  think  of  nothing  clearly  and 
consecutively.  It  flashed  into  his  mind  that  he 
had  let  her  believe  this,  that  he  would  be  some- 
how disloyal  to  her  if  he  told  the  truth  first  to 
anyone  else. 

[931 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

"Yes — sort  of,"  he  faltered,  feeling  that  he 
must  say  something. 

"Where  did  you  find  him?  On  his  bunk?" 
asked  Solly.  This  was  just  the  moment  when 
Mr.  Sabin  and  the  Bates  ladies  passed,  when 
Tommy  and  Nellie  exchanged  glances.  So 
Tommy  had  not  even  heard  the  question. 
Solly  repeated  it. 

"I  s'pose  so,"  replied  Tommy  abstractedly. 

"Found  him  on  his  bunk,  overcome  with  the 
smoke  which  presaged  the  hellish  flames," 
wrote  Solly,  giving  play  to  his  art  even  while 
taking  notes.  * '  Hero  seemed  dazed, ' '  he  jotted 
down  as  an  afterthought.  "And  I  suppose  you 
paused  even  then  to  put  your  hand  over  his 
heart  and  ascertain  if  rescue  was  too  late  I" 

"Well,  I  knew  he  was  alive,"  faltered 
Tommy. 

"All  right,  "said  Solly.  "Fine!  Now  what's 
your  name  and  your  job  ? ' ' 

' '  Thomas  J.  Coulter, ' '  said  Tommy.  "  I  —  I 
work  for  a  mine." 

Suddenly  the  realization  of  what  this  was  all 
about  struck  him,  chilled  him  to  the  bone. 

"Say,  what  are  you  doing?"  he  asked,  wak- 

[94] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

ing  up  at  last  from  the  love  trance. 
aren't  going  to  put  this  stuff  in  the  papers,  are 
you?" 

"Cert  I  am!"  replied  Solly,  rapidly  jotting 
down:  "Hero  maintained  modest  attitude  to 
the  end. ' ' 

"But  I  didn't  do  anything!"  Tommy  per- 
sisted. 

"Course  you  didn't!"  said  Solly;  and 
snapping  his  wad  of  paper  into  his  pocket  he 
sped  away  to  the  office  that  he  might  write  the 
story  before  it  grew  cold. 

Peeling  off  his  coat  and  turning  up  the  oil 
lamp  he  brushed  a  space  among  the  loose  ex- 
changes on  his  desk,  weighted  down  their 
fluttering  leaves  with  his  trusty  forty-five- 
caliber  rebuttal  of  libel  charges,  and  let  his 
pencil  fly.  Solly  had  been  trained  as  a  cub  on 
the  old  New  York  Herald  of  James  Gordon 
Bennett,  father  of  interviewing,  and  prided 
himself  on  keeping  to  the  sound  traditions  of 
that  school.  From  an  introduction  which  ran 
the  whole  spectrum  of  highly  colored  adjectives 
he  passed  gracefully  into  the  question-and- 
answer  method;  whereof  here  is  a  sample: 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

"Q.  How  did  you  make  an  entrance  to  the 
holocaust  ? 

"A.  I  did  nothing. 

"Q.  Your  modesty  is  to  your  credit.  The 
members  of  John  W.  Sabin  Hose  No.  1,  who  be- 
held the  daring  rescue,  know  better. 

"A.  Well,  then,  I  thrust  my  foot  against 
the  back  door,  which  I  had  found  locked.  It 
yielded  to  my  emphatic  pressure  — " 

Having  finished  and  put  the  conventional 
"30"  at  the  bottom  of  the  page,  Solly  wiped 
the  perspiration  of  inspiration  from  his  brow 
and  set  himself  to  compose  headlines.  In  his 
literary  style  Solly  was  a  disciple  of  the  old 
New  York  Herald ;  but  he  modeled  his  heads  on 
the  famous  one-line  alliterative  thrillers  of  the 
contemporary  Cincinnati  Enquirer.  And  he 
brought  forth  as  follows : 

BURST 
THROUGH  BURNING  BUILDING 


MAIN  STREET  MOB  WITNESSES 
DARING  DEED 


FIRST  FIRE  RESCUE  IN 
CARBONADO  CAMP 

[96] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

MODEST  MINER  SAVES  PROMINENT 

CITIZEN  FROM  CERTAIN  AND  HORRIBLE  DEATH 

AND  ATTEMPTS  TO  DENY  VALIANT  ACT 


Conflagration  Consumes 
Four  Main-Street  Residences 


Sipple's  Store 

Saved  by  Brave  Effort 

of  Fire  Department  and  its 

Heroic  Chief 

Nervously  exhausted  by  now,  Solley  filed  this, 
his  masterpiece,  where  the  foreman  would  get 
it  for  his  first  take  in  the  morning,  and  strolled 
over  to  renew  his  forces  at  the  Arizona  House. 


[97] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THAT  day  of  the  Firemen's  Ball,  Tommy 
was  to  see  his  lady  of  the  columbines  and 
of    miracles    only    at    breakfast.      She 
entered  the  dining  room,  lagging  a  little  behind 
her  mother,  and  threw  him  one  glance  full  of 
softness  and  meaning,  the  while  Mrs.   Bates 
bowed  distantly.     During  breakfast  she  twice 
looked   in   his    direction   when    her   mother's 
attention  was  distracted.    The  second  time  her 
lips  pursed  up  lightly  for  an  instant. 

To  anyone  but  Tommy,  watching  it  would 
have  seemed  merely  an  accidental  expression. 
But  he  knew  it  for  what  it  was  —  the  ghost  of 
that  kiss,  the  first  she  had  ever  given  in  love  to 
man,  and  which  had  been  all  a  sleepless  night 
dying  on  his  own  lips  a  rapturous,  lingering 
death.  She  passed  again ;  and  some  instinct  told 
him  he  was  not  to  see  her  at  dinner.  In  fact  that 
was  the  day  chosen  by  John  W.  Sabin  for  the 
delayed  visit  of  his  guests  to  Sacramento  Hill 
and  the  mines. 

[98] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

Having  nothing  else  to  do  Tommy  strolled 
over  to  the  Arizona  House ;  and  there  the  situa- 
tion which  life  had  thrust  upon  him  struck  him 
squarely  in  the  face.  From  the  gambling  hall 
next  door,  by  night  ringing  with  the  clatter  of 
chips,  the  whir  of  the  roulette  wheel,  the 
monotone  of  the  dealer  and  the  babble  of  a 
hundred  excited  voices,  came  now  only  a  clatter 
and  swishing  made  by  the  porter  in  the  act  of 
scrubbing  out.  The  barroom  was  deserted 
except  for  Mike  the  bartender  and  two  pros- 
pectors, lately  returned  from  a  small  strike  and 
taking  their  vacation  among  the  delights  of 
Main  Street. 

"Well,  young  fellow!"  said  Mike,  who  had 
hitherto  paid  Tommy  only  perfunctory  atten- 
tion, ' '  you  look  fine  for  a  man  who  went  through 
what  you  did  last  night.  I  hear  Old  Calamity 
is  all  right  again  this  morning.  I  guess  he  was 
smoked  an '  biled  both ! ' ' 

One  of  the  two  prospectors  took  a  compara- 
tively straight  course  from  the  bar  to  Tommy. 

"Lemme  shake  your  hand,"  he  said  a  little 
thickly.  "I  seen  it.  H'roic  act.  Jest  went 
straight  to  it  an'  done  it  like  that!"  He  swung 

[99] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

his  hardened  palm  at  Tommy's  hand,  missed  it, 
and  swung  again. 

In  fact  Solly  Watrous  had  spent  most  of  the 
night  in  the  Arizona  House.  His  glow  of 
artistic  creation  had  not  yet  burned  out;  his 
story  still  absorbed  all  his  thoughts.  The  more 
he  drank,  the  more  loudly  he  proclaimed  to  all 
who  would  listen  the  remarkable  nature  of  the 
event  which  the  camp  had  just  witnessed. 

"A  regular  heroic  fire  rescue!"  he  said. 
"Thing  you  don't  see  one  time  in  a  million 
fires ! ' ' 

Mike  the  bartender  and  one  or  two  regular 
habitues  of  the  Arizona  House  recognized  the 
hero  from  description  as  a  young  man  who  had 
been  mooning  round  the  barroom  for  the  past 
few  days.  Truth  to  tell,  no  one  had  thought  of 
the  event  at  the  time  as  anything  very  unusual 
in  a  region  where  man  daily  staked  his  like 
against  other  men  or  against  the  cruel  forces  of 
Nature.  It  took  the  golden  tongue  of  Solly 
Watrous,  well  oiled  with  red-eye  whisky,  to 
make  them  see  that  it  was  remarkable. 

Before  the  prospector  had  finished  wringing 
Tommy's  hand,  Sandy  McNutt,  captain  of  John 

[100] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

W.  Sabin  Hose  No.  1,  thrust  his  neat  and  elegant 
figure  into  the  barroom  for  the  purpose  of 
getting  his  morning  fortification  after  a  night 
spent  in  too  much  public  service  and  dalliance, 
against  a  lively  day  in  the  real  estate  and  insur- 
ance business. 

"That's  him,"  said  Mike  the  bartender, 
indicating  Tommy  with  a  jerk  of  his  head  as  he 
poured  the  libation  — '  *  the  young  fellow  that 
done  it. ' ' 

Sandy  left  his  drink  untasted,  crossed  to 
Tommy  and  slapped  him  on  the  back  before 
offering  his  hand.  "I'm  the  captain  of  Hose 
No.  1,"  said  Sandy,  "  —  and  I  want  to  tell  you 
that  you  made  suckers  of  us  all  last  night.  Say, 
you're  a  born  fireman,  you  are!  Saved  my 
reputation,  you  did.  If  anybody 'd  got  burned 
up  in  that  fire  and  no  attempt  at  rescue,  the 
buck  would  have  been  passed  to  me  for  a 
cinch ! ' ' 

"I  didn't  do  anything,"  faltered  Tommy. 

"It's  your  play  to  say  that,"  replied  Sandy. 
'  *  Say,  can  you  run  ?  Don 't  matter  whether  you 
can  or  not,  you  Ve  got  to  join  us,  honorary  mem- 
bership if  nothing  else.  Why  didn't  you  stick 

[101] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

round  last  night?  Everybody  was  looking  for 
you.  Anyhow  you're  coming  to  the  Firemen's 
Ball  in  Masonic  Hall  to-night.  Sure  you  are. 
Have  a  drink ! ' ' 

Tommy,  accepting  chose  beer;  and  as  he 
drank,  a  little  perplexity  which  had  been 
clouding  his  mind  all  day  suddenly  blew  away. 
He  had  been  wondering  vaguely  how  he  was  to 
fulfill  the  first  command  laid  upon  him  by  the 
mistress  of  his  soul  and  get  to  the  Firemen's 
Ball.  It  was,  he  knew,  a  very  select  and  private 
occasion.  The  women  in  camp  stood  on  two 
separate  sides  of  a  distinct  line.  All  those  on 
the  brighter  side  would  be  invited  to  the  Fire- 
men's Ball.  For  the  men,  invitation  was 
limited  to  the  members  of  the  hose  and  hook 
and  ladder  companies,  what  Solly  Watrous 
called  the  prominent  business  men,  and  great 
persons  like  John  W.  Sabin.  Here  life  had 
dropped  the  grail  of  his  quest  into  his  lap  . 

By  now  his  shame  at  accepting  a  crown  he 
had  not  earned  was  growing  a  little  dimmer. 
It  troubled  him  less  and  less  as  the  day 
wore  on  and  public  adulation  continued  to 
shower  him  with  its  favors.  When  the  Evening 

[102] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

Clarion  came  out  on  the  streets  and  —  retired 
in  a  far  corner  of  the  Arizona  House  bar  —  he 
read  Solly's  masterpiece,  suggestion  had 
worked  its  miracle.  He  really  believed  it  him- 
self. After  all,  he  had  found  Old  Calamity. 
After  all,  he  had  shipped  some  smoke  when  he 
rounded  the  corner  of  the  house.  If  he  had 
been  a  coward  he  would  have  dropped  Old 
Calamity  right  there  and  saved  himself;  but  he 
didn't;  he  kept  on.  If  that  house  hadn't  been  a 
furnace  which  no  man  could  possibly  enter  he 
would  certainly  have  gone  into  it.  This 
reporter  hadn  't  exaggerated  much ;  only  enough 
to  make  the  thing  readable.  When  a  little 
later  Tommy  met  Solly  Watrous,  ranging  in 
search  of  notes  from  the  mines,  and  Solly 
asked  "What  did  you  think  of  my  story?" 
Tommy  only  answered  weakly,  almost  per- 
functorily, "Well,  I  guess  you  touched  it  up  a 
bit." 

Before  night  Old  Calamity  had  put  the  cap- 
stone on  Tommy's  fame.  The  victim  of  alcohol 
and  smoke,  tucked  into  a  bunk  in  Doc  Jones' 
temporary  hospital  back  of  the  city  marshal's 
office,  had  recovered  consciousness.  Before 

[103] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

Solly  Watrous  heard  of  this  and  raced  to  inter- 
view him  Old  Calamity  had  read  the  article  in 
the  Evening  Clarion.  Now  all  that  Old 
Calamity  remembered  of  the  night's  events, 
after  a  sudden  fading  of  this  exterior  world  in 
the  bar  of  the  Arizona  House,  was  a  dim  recol- 
lection of  rough  handling.  Solly  Watrous 
story,  wherein  he  figured  as  a  prominent  mining 
man,  did  more  to  revive  him  than  the  ministra- 
tions of  medical  science ;  for  Old  Calamity  had 
cherished  always  a  yearning  for  fame.  By  the 
time  Solly  Watrous  arrived  it  needed  only  a 
little  suggestion  to  bring  out  of  him  a  mar- 
velous story  wherein  hope  and  struggle  yielded 
to  despair,  to  resignation,  to  blackness,  to 
awakening,  to  joy,  to  gratitude. 

Said  Solly's  story  as  he  ripped  it  off  for  the 
second  and  last  edition: 

"Q.  You  really  believe,  then,  that  but  for 
the  heroic  efforts  of  young  Coulter  you  would 
have  perished  in  the  holocaust? 

"A.  Unquestionably.  I  owe  my  preservation 
to  that  brave  young  man.  I  shall  seek  the  first 
occasion  to  wring  his  hand  and  express  my 
sentiments  of  thanksgiving." 

As  false  as  history,  the  story  of  the  great 

[104] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

fire   rescue    had  now  become   as  permanent. 

All  day  long  Tommy  swam  in  a  pleasant 
notoriety  which  made  brighter  that  glow  of 
love  triumphant  burning  within  him.  In  that 
mood  he  saw  only  fulfillment.  Hitherto  Mrs. 
Bates,  the  dragon  at  the  door  of  his  lady,  John 
W.  Sabin,  the  ogre  waiting  without,  had 
troubled  his  imagination.  Now  these  were 
things  which  had  no  existence.  Obstacles? 
They  were  nothing.  He  could  dare  anything. 

She  was  not  at  the  Marlborough  for  supper ; 
John  W.  Sabin  was  banqueting  the  Bates  ladies 
at  the  mine.  But  he  checked  his  moment  of 
disappointment  by  reflecting  that  he  knew  he 
should  see  her  at  the  Firemen's  Ball.  Besides, 
he  was  now  an  object  of  attention;  perfect 
strangers  insisted  on  sitting  with  him  and 
drawing  him  out  on  the  subject  of  the  rescue. 
Standing  after  supper  in  the  Marlborough  lobby 
he  caught  just  one  glimpse  of  her  as  she  flitted 
up  the  stairs ;  but  she  managed  to  turn  just  be- 
fore the  shadow  blotted  her  out,  and  to  throw 
a  glance  at  him.  Waiting  no  longer,  he  dressed 
with  unusual  care,  spending  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  in  choosing  between  his  three  neckties. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  Little  Casino  got  along  with  a  single 
piano  player  the  night  of  the  Firemen's 
Ball ;  and  sharp  at  nine  o  'clock  the  strains 
of  its  band  were  heard  far  up  the  hill,  strik- 
ing hard  with  all  power  of  brass  and  drum  on 
the  stirring  notes  of  Hail  to  the  Chief.  A  minute 
after,  all  Main  Street  was  hushed  with  anticipa- 
tion; five  minutes  later,  to  inspiring  and  in- 
spired cheers,  the  procession  swung  past.  First 
came  sundry  honorary  members,  arrayed  in 
civilian  clothes  but  carrying  kerosene  torches; 
in  their  midst  Pat  Burke,  city  recorder,  and  Doc 
Jones,  the  coroner,  bore  the  American  flag  and 
the  red  gonfalon  of  the  fire  department.  There 
followed  John  W.  Sabin  Hose  No.  1,  in  full 
uniform  of  red  shirts,  black  trousers  and  gaudy 
helmets,  Sandy  McNutt  not  pulling  on  the 
leading  lines,  as  he  did  during  the  moments  of 
splendid  action,  but  marching  before  with  his 
trumpet  held  smartly  under  his  arm.  The  hose 
company  did  not  propose  to  be  caught  napping 

[106] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

in  that  community  of  high  winds  and  wooden 
buildings;  so  the  cart  carried,  as  usual,  a  full 
barrel,  which  had  already,  in  taking  an  espe- 
cially severe  bump,  slopped  over  and  wet  down 
the  red  shirt  of  the  nozzle-man.  Behind  the 
hook  and  ladder  company  marched,  mimicked 
and  frolicked  that  following  of  small  citizens  on 
foot  without  which  no  procession  is  complete  in 
any  land — a  very  small  fringe  in  this  case, 
since  families  in  Carbonado  Camp  were  still 
few. 

John  W.  Sabin  did  not  march  with  his  merry 
men,  nor  did  he  wear,  on  this  especial  occasion, 
his  uniform.  He  waited  their  coming  by  the 
platform  of  Masonic  Hall;  and  he  was  clad  in 
one  of  the  only  three  dress  suits  in  camp. 
Down  his  frilled  shirt  ran  a  row  of  magnifi- 
cent diamonds,  giving  back  gleam  for  gleam  to 
the  diamonds  on  his  fingers.  The  ridges  of  his 
leathery  skin  gleamed  fresh  from  the  razor;  his 
sea-lion  mustache  shone  with  pomade;  the  long 
straight,  grizzled  locks  of  his  front  hair  had 
been  combed  over  and  plastered  down  with 
bear's  grease  to  conceal  his  bald  spot. 

About   this   central   and   ornamental   figure 

[107] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

Masonic  Hall  flaunted  all  the  decoration  within 
the  power  of  Carbonado  camp.  All  day  Sam 
Haney  's  express  wagon  had  been  hauling  dwarf 
pine  trees  and  pine  branches,  cut  in  the  sparse, 
struggling  woods  by  Bear  Creek.  The  trees 
were  all  posed  about  the  walls;  the  branches 
made  above  the  platform  an  arch  whose  key- 
stone was  a  sheaf  of  American  flags.  From  tree 
to  tree  about  the  wall  ran  the  red  and  yellow  of 
the  fire  department  in  loops  of  cheesecloth. 
Branches  made  a  bower  for  the  musicians  and 
half  concealed  a  table  in  the  corner,  where  Mike 
the  bartender  presided  in  white  jacket  and 
apron  over  a  punch  which — he  himself  said — 
was  warranted  to  make  your  hair  curl. 

About  John  W.  Sabin  were  grouped  those 
prominent  citizens  who  had  chosen  not  to  march 
with  the  torchlights,  and  the  ladies.  The  men 
wore-  their  Sunday  best,  festally  touched  up 
with  such  additions  as  white  waistcoats  and 
diamond  studs.  As  before  mentioned,  there 
were  two  other  dress  suits  in  camp  besides  John 
W.  Sabin 's.  One  belonged  to  Willie  Tutweiler, 
the  assayer,  who  had  lately  arrived  from  college 
and  the  East.  He  had  entered,  indeed,  wearing 

[108] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

the  final  touch  of  decoration  in  the  form  of  a 
pair  of  white  gloves,  which,  after  one  furtive 
look  round  the  hall,  he  surreptitiously  peeled 
off.  The  other — a  venerable  antique — belonged 
to  Bill  Hayden,  superintendent  of  the  North 
Star,  who,  as  every  one  knew,  enjoyed  a  college 
education  before  he  took  to  mining. 

Already  there  were  more  men  in  the  hall  than 
women;  Tommy,  entering  a  little  before  the 
grand  entry  of  the  Firemen,  felt  his  heart  sink 
as  he  reflected  on  the  struggle  that  must  ensue 
for  the  favor  of  the  ladies  when  the  procession 
should  arrive.  At  that,  the  ball  had  drawn 
every  fireman  on  the  respectable  side  of  the  per- 
fectly definite  line.  In  social  position  and  in 
costume  they  ranged  all  the  way  from  Mrs. 
Black,  whose  husband  was  beginning  to  vie 
with  John  W.  Sabin  in  prospects  and  impor- 
tance, to  the  biscuit  shooters  at  the  Marl- 
borough.  Mrs.  Black  was  little  of  frame;  she 
was  dumpy  with  the  twenty  years  of  hard  work 
that  had  gone  before  the  turn  of  the  family 
fortune;  she  was  sallow  with  the  old  suns  of 
long  trails.  She  blazed  in  a  wine-colored  silk 
dress  whose  high  tints  only  emphasized  the 

[109] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

yellowish  tones  of  her  skin,  whose  bodice  con- 
fined her  so  tightly  that  she  seemed  momen- 
tarily about  to  pop  out  of  it.  Two  great 
diamond  earrings  frolicked  with  the  light  as 
she  bobbed  her  head  in  conversation.  Hattie 
Murchison,  waitress  at  the  Marlborough,  and  on 
the  other  end  of  the  social  scale,  wore  simply  the 
gown  of  plain  brown  nun's  veiling,  draped 
modestly  yet  modishly  over  a  bustle,  in  which 
she  attended  church  on  Sundays.  Mrs.  Hayden, 
wife  of  the  college-bred  Bill,  herself  young  and 
blondly,  innocuously  pretty,  wore  black  lace 
over  geranium  red. 

"The  most  stylish  costume  here,"  confided 
Essie  Singleton,  the  camp  dressmaker,  to  her 
confidante,  Mrs.  Jarmouth,  the  jeweler's  wife. 
"That  lace  guimpe  I  call  tasty.  What  say  I 
copy  it  for  that  afternoon  toilette  of  yours  I  As 
for  them  —  de  trop,  my  dear,  de  trop" —  Miss 
Singleton  culled  French  from  the  fashion 
papers  and  loved  to  air  it — "do  you  suppose 
there 's  anything  between  the  girl  and  John  W.  ? 
To  me  it's  as  plain  as  day  —  both  of  'em  are 
setting  their  caps.  I  never  could  abide  that 

[no] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

brunet  type!    I've  found  them  deceitful,  if  any- 
one should  ask  me." 

Other  feminine  eyes  besides  Miss  Singleton's 
were  searching  out  the  flaws  in  the  two  stranger 
ladies,  grouped  near  the  platform  beside  John 
W.  Sabin ;  other  tongues  were  whispering  criti- 
cism. If  Mrs.  Bates  was  aware  of  this  she 
showed  it  only  by  a  slightly  more  majestic 
demeanor.  As  for  Nellie,  she  wore  her  air  of 
sweet  unconsciousness,  lowering  her  eyes 
modestly  each  time  John  W.  introduced  her  to 
a  prominent  citizen  of  the  camp,  raising  them 
prettily  to  respond  with  conventional  nothings, 
which  became  somethings  with  the  music  of 
her  voice  and  the  play  of  her  expression. 

Tommy,  standing  back  by  the  door,  watched 
the  group  at  the  platform  with  all  his  eyes.  To 
his  first  hot  jealousy  succeeded  a  sense  of  per- 
plexity. She  had  promised  him  dances!  To 
claim  them  he  must  beard  the  dragon.  He  even 
became  guiltily  conscious,  for  the  first  time  in 
two  days,  that  he  was  loafing  on  the  grubstake 
of  John  W.  Sabin.  But  the  sense  of  recognized 
heroism  was  still  upon  him;  still  was  he  in  the 
mood  to  attempt  anything.  And  as  luck  would 

[in] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

have  it,  just  as  he  sidled  unobtrusively  across 
the  hall  the  band  of  the  Little  Casino,  having 
fortified  itself  for  its  evening  labors  at  the 
Pioneer  Saloon  next  door,  was  seated  and  ready. 
The  snare  drum  emitted  a  thundering  long  roll, 
bringing  the  whole  company  to  attention;  and 
the  brasses  hit  together  the  first  note  of  Lo,  the 
Conquering  Hero  Comes! 

That  was  the  signal  to  Sandy  McNutt,  wait- 
ing on  the  staircase.  " Forward,  march!"  he 
commanded,  so  loudly  and  masterfully  that  it 
was  heard  above  the  best  efforts  of  the  Little 
Casino.  And  into  the  hall,  among  roars  from 
within  and  without,  swung  the  firemen,  two  by 
two. 

Tommy  chose  this  moment  of  distraction  in 
the  crowd  to  hurry  up  to  the  focus  of  his  atten- 
tion. John  W.  Sabin  was  looking  upon  the 
spectacle,  was  dissertating  to  Mrs.  Bates  upon 
the  fire  department  they  were  going  to  have 
when  the  railroad  came  through.  "Got  the 
horses  all  picked  out  and  trained  in  Denver!" 
he  said,  and  he  glowed  with  a  technical  descrip- 
tion of  the  points  of  the  big  nigh  bay,  so  that 

[112] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

Mrs.  Bates,  for  very  politeness,  had  to  keep  her 
gaze  on  him. 

Nellie  greeted  her  lover  with  a  soft  flush  of 
her  eyes.  As  he  came  near  her  she  was  holding 
out  her  dance  program,  a  magnificent  specimen 
of  the  work  of  the  Clarion  Press — all  spangles 
and  stars  and  rustic  lettering. 

"Quick  —  here,  and  here,  and  here,  and 
here!"  she  whispered. 

He  rapidly  wrote  "Thomas  J.  Coulter"  in  the 
four  spaces  she  had  indicated  with  the  little 
flower  stalk  of  her  finger.  He  looked  down  on 
her  when  he  had  finished.  He  stood  close;  his 
broad  back  was  between  her  and  the  prying 
world,  so  that  she  was  safe  in  giving  her  expres- 
sion play  for  a  moment,  in  letting  her  lips 
ripple  like  a  river  of  roses  with  voiceless  love 
words.  And  at  that  instant  —  John  W.  Sabin, 
having  paused  for  very  want  of  adjectives  to 
express  the  future  glory  of  Carbonado  and  its 
fire  department  —  Mrs.  Bates  took  occasion  to 
turn  toward  her  daughter. 

She  could  not  see  Nellie's  face,  though  she 
did  read  something  in  the  droop  of  her  neck; 
but  she  caught  the  expression  of  the  young  man 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

-his  widened  eyes,  his  relaxed  lips,  a  play  of 
color  in  his  cheeks. 

' '  Come,  Nellie, ' '  she  began,  ' '  we  Ve  — 

But  Nellie,  perfect  mistress  of  herself  and  of 
the  situation,  interrupted  with:  "Mother,  you 
know  Mr.  Coulter,  I  believe.  You  remember, 
we  met  him  coming  in  on  the  stage. ' ' 

'  *  Oh,  yes  indeed ! ' '  said  Mrs.  Bates,  stiffening 
her  best  society  tone  with  a  slight  frigidity. 

"And  Mr.  Sabin  —  may  I  present  Mr. 
Coulter!  He's  the  man  who  made  that  rescue 
at  the  fire  last  night." 

"Gee  whiz!"  exclaimed  John  W.  Sabin, 
wrapping  his  great,  hardened  palm  round  the 
hand  of  Tommy.  "Been  waiting  to  run  across 
you  all  day.  Say,  it  was  great!  Have  the  boys 
asked  you  into  the  fire  department  yet?  Say, 
what's  your  job?  I — " 

This  embarrassing  line  of  inquiry  was  cut 
short  by  the  stentorian  voice  of  Doc  Jones,  the 
coroner,  in  his  capacity  of  floor  manager, 
bawling :  * '  All  out  for  the  grand  march  I ' ' 

By  a  consent  so  common  that  no  one  even 
expressed  it,  John  W.  Sabin  was  to  lead  the 

[114] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

Grand  March,  as  he  had  led  everything  in  Car- 
bonado Camp. 

"Come  on,  Nellie!"  he  exclaimed,  starting 
forward  with  feet  which  danced  awkwardly  to 
the  music,  and  an  attempt  at  sprightly  motion 
which  set  him  rolling  like  a  bear.  "We 're  going 
to  show  them ! ' ' 

But  Nellie  had  drawn  back. 

"Oh,  but  you're  leading  the  grand  march 
with  mother!"  she  said. 

1 '  Thought  it  was  you  I  asked, ' '  faltered  John 
W.  Sabin,  the  quiver  at  the  end  of  his  sea-lion 
mustache  expressing  that  he  was  somewhat 
taken  aback. 

Mrs.  Bates  looked  upon  her  daughter  and 
their  eyes  met  —  dark,  glittering,  pointed  with 
light  like  hostile,  opposing  lances.  It  lasted  for 
only  a  few  seconds,  that  glance,  but  it  was  long 
enough  for  a  whole  hidden  drama  of  character. 
Mrs.  Bates  had  shirked  the  moment,  which  she 
always  knew  was  coming  some  day,  when  her 
forthputting,  creating  will  would  meet  in  deci- 
sive combat  that  will  which  she  felt  in  her 
daughter  —  less  active  but  as  immobile  as 
granite.  The  battle  had  suddenly  been  joined. 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

The  less  aggressive  of  the  two  had  forced  it  at  a 
time  when  it  could  not  be  fought  with  articulate 
speech  —  and  speech  was  the  best  weapon  Mrs. 
Bates  had  in  her  armory. 

It  was  the  mother  who  first  broke  the  hold  of 
her  eyes  and  looked  away.  And  in  that  little 
effort  of  the  tiny  muscles  which  control  the 
human  eyeball  she  momentarily  surrendered  to 
her  daughter  as  completely  as  though  in  sight  of 
all  Carbonado  Camp  she  had  knelt  on  the  ball- 
room floor. 

1 '  Thank  you,  Mr.  Sabin, ' '  she  said  in  her  most 
cordial  society  manner,  "my  daughter  is  quite 
right.  A  young  lady  shouldn't  make  herself  too 
conspicious. ' ' 

She  thrust  her  hand  under  the  black  broad- 
cloth of  John  W.  Sabin 's  arm.  As  she  tripped 
away  she  did  not  look  back,  but  something 
about  the  quiver  among  the  jet  spangles  at  the 
rear  of  her  corsage  expressed  a  highly  disturbed 
mood. 

Sandy  McNutt  and  Pat  Burke,  men  of  action 
both,  were  upon  Nellie  as  soon  as  her  mother 
turned  away.  Simultaneously  they  asked  for 
the  honor. 

[116] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

But  Tommy  spoke  up  with  an  assuming 
boldness  which  would  have  been  impossible  to 
him  a  short  twenty-four  hours  ago :  * '  Miss  Bates 
promised  me  the  grand  march,"  he  said. 

Miss  Bates  did  not  speak ;  but  she  did  not  hesi- 
tate either.  With  an  assenting  smile,  followed 
by  a  sweet  backward  glance  of  conciliation  on 
the  two  unfortunate  suitors,  she  slipped  her 
hand  under  Tommy's  arm;  through  kid  and 
cloth,  through  blood  and  muscle,  it  radiated  a 
delicate  warmth  to  the  very  marrow  of  his  bones. 
They  floated  on  rosy  clouds  lighted  by  a  star 
mist  to  a  place  in  the  line  at  the  rear  of  the  other 
mixed  couples,  just  ahead  of  those  firemen  and 
prominent  citizens  who,  having  lost  in  the 
scramble  for  ladies,  were  paired  off  man  with 
man.  Now  looking  straight  ahead,  a  pleasant 
but  disguising  mask  of  society  expression  over 
her  features,  her  voice  so  controlled  that  it 
could  not  reach  the  couple  ahead,  she  was 
speaking:  "Oh,  columbine  boy,  you  don't  think 
because  I  let  you  kiss  me — that  I  let  anyone. 
It  was  the  first  time. ' ' 

"No  —  No ! "  he  hastened  to  reply,  and  could 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

say  no  more  then  because  he  could  not  trust  his 
voice. 

1  'And  if  you  do  not  kiss  me  again  I  shall 
never  kiss  anyone  else —  never  and  mean  it," 
she  said.  "But  oh,  my  beloved,  my  columbine 
boy,  my  dearest — -" 

"Ladies  and  gents  split  out!"  came  the  com- 
mand of  Doc  Jones,  dancing  backward  and  for- 
ward with  the  music,  his  arms  beating  rhythm- 
ically. 

So  the  warmth  on  Tommy's  arm  must  give 
place  to  a  winter  of  longing  until  he  had  circled 
the  hall  in  the  file  of  men  dancers.  Before  and 
behind  him  certain  gamesome  persons  had  be- 
gun to  do  the  lock  step;  Tommy  joined  in  the 
frolic  mechanically. 

Now  the  locked  line  had  rounded  the  hall 
and  she  was  dancing  toward  him,  her  two  little 
hands  extended  like  two  white  lilies  of  five 
petals. 

As  they  locked  arms  and  resumed  the  march 
she  leaned  her  slight  weight  deliciously  upon 
him;  and  it  was  she  who  began  to  speak: 

"I  don't  know  why  I  have  done  it." 

"Done  what?"  he  managed  to  ask  her. 

[1*8] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

1 '  Everything  —  all  this  —  last  night  —  you 
know.  Think,  I  saw  you  first  only  three  days 
ago.  And  I  know  nothing  about  you  except 
what  you  have  told  me. ' ' 

"We  don't  need  to  know,"  he  said  with  his 
own  direct  simplicity.  "All  I  know  is  that  I 
love  you." 

"And  I  loved  you  from  the  time  I  saw  you 
among  the  columbines.  Isn't  it  wonderful  that 
I  knew  it  —  that  we  both  knew  it?  And  now 
what  are  we  going  to  do  I " 

"I  don't  know  —  something,  I  guess,"  he 
answered  vaguely,  desperately. 

"Ah,  but  we  have  four  more  dances  to  talk 
of  that, ' '  she  said.  * '  I  want  only  to  be  near  you 
now — to  touch  you — to  know  that  I  love  you — 
love  you,  my  dearest,  dearest  columbine  boy!" 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment,  swimming  in 
clouds  of  ecstasy;  then  the  voice  of  Doc  Jones 
bawled :  * ;  Forward  in  fours ! ' ' 

Charlie  Pringle,  head  clerk  at  the  Marlbor- 
ough,  paired  off  with  Hattie  Murchison,  the 
biscuit  shooter,  swung  in  now  at  their  right. 
There  was  no  more  chance  for  this  intimate 
conversation  even  at  the  low,  controlled  tone 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

which  Nellie  had  employed.  There  was  still 
less  chance  when  it  became  "Forward  by 
eights!"  and  two  pairs  of  mated  firemen, 
occasionaly  scuffing  and  punching  each  other 
in  the  ribs,  marched  at  Tommy's  left.  There 
were  simply  little  almost  hysterical  touches  and 
pressures  of  her  hand  on  his  arm,  little  squeezes 
of  his  arm  on  her  hand.  Even  when  Doc  Jones 
announced  "Waltz  your  partners  to  their 
places!"  they  did  not  speak,  but  simply  yielded 
themselves  to  the  deliciousness  of  love,  music 
and  motion. 

When  they  returned  from  the  floor  Mrs. 
Bates,  as  lady  of  the  leading  couple,  had 
resumed  her  place  by  the  platform.  Something 
warned  Tommy  not  to  linger;  he  managed  as 
graceful  a  bow  as  he  could  muster  and  with- 
drew. And  now  it  rained  men,  making  toward 
Nellie  to  beg  the  favor  of  dances;  a  conven- 
tionality risen  from  the  scarcity  of  women 
decreed  that  programs  should  not  be  filled  in 
advance. 

Mrs.  Bates  spoke  low  and  sharply:  "Don't 
take  the  first  dance.  I  want  to  talk  with  you. ' ' 

"Got    any    dances    left?"    inquired    Sandy 

[120] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

McNutt,  whose  speed  had  brought  him  to 
Nellie's  side  one  stride  in  advance  of  the  rest. 

"Yes,  indeed.  I  can  give  you  the  first !"  said 
Nellie  sweetly  and  without  looking  at  her 
mother. 

The  quick  stab  of  a  white  tooth  over  Mrs. 
Bates '  under  lip  was  smothered  almost  instantly 
by  her  serene  expression  of  society  calm.  But 
anyone  who  knew  that  lady  might  have  traced 
an  undercurrent  of  determination.  She  had 
lost  the  first  skirmish  and  the  second;  she  pro- 
posed now  to  join  decisive  action  with  all  her 
forces. 

And  luck  played  with  her.  The  cornet  of  the 
Little  Casino  band,  managed  by  Pop  Bacon, 
who  had  been  a  bugler  in  the  Civil  War,  tooted 
the  assembly;  whereupon  Doc  Jones  strode  for- 
ward, his  frock  coat  swishing  about  his  fat 
legs. 

"Ladies  and  gentleman,"  he  said,  "I  want  to 
introduce  to  your  kind  attention,  Sam  Smith, 
champion  buck-and-wing  dancer  of  the  Elite 
Variety  Theayter." 

During  the  loud  applause  which  followed, 
Mrs.  Bates  looked  about  her.  John  W.  Sabin 

[121] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

had  gone  to  the  other  side  of  the  ballroom. 
Sandy  McNutt  was  watching  the  agile  entry  of 
Sam  Smith.  Now,  if  ever,  was  the  moment. 

" Nellie,"  said  Mrs.  Bates  slowly  and  icily, 
"I  want  you  should  come  to  the  ladies'  room 
with  me. ' ' 

Mrs.  Bates  had  prepared  herself  for  a  refusal 
and  had  planned  further  measures. 

To  her  surprise  Nellie  responded  airily, 
"Very  well,  mother!" 

Alone  Mrs.  Bates  turned  upon  her  offspring. 
In  her  baffled  rage  she  began  with  a  strategic 
mistake;  she  attacked  with  all  her  forces  at 
once. 

"Eleanor  Virginia  Bates,"  she  said,  "I  want 
you  should  tell  me  right  now  what's  between 
you  and  that  young  man! ' ' 

Nellie  picked  up  a  powder  puff  from  the  pine 
bureau  and  began  daintily  to  powder  her  nose, 
the  reflection  powdering  back  from  the  nine- 
inch  mirror.  And  airily  she  replied, '  *  I  wonder 
if  that  isn  't  a  matter  between  me  and  the  young 
man. ' ' 

"  'Between  you  and  the  young  man'!" 
quoted  Mrs.  Bates  with  all  the  sarcasm  she 

[122] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

could  put  into  her  voice.  "When  did  you  fix 
it  up  that  he  should  take  those  four  waltzes? 
Tell  me  now  —  I Ve  seen  your  program." 

"Last  night  at  the  fire,"  responded  Nellie 
casually,  patting  into  place  a  curl  that  had 
strayed  from  her  bang. 

*  *  How  long  has  this  thing  been  going  on  I "  de- 
manded Mrs.  Bates.  She  was  fast  losing  con- 
trol of  herself;  the  icy  tone  of  a  society  woman, 
which  she  had  assumed  at  the  beginning  of  this 
vital  interview,  was  shaken  with  little  tremors. 
* i  Ever  since  we  struck  Carbonado,  I  suppose. ' ' 

"About  that  time,"  replied  Nellie,  her  own 
airy  tone  not  shaken  in  the  least. 

Now  she  had  twisted  her  lace  handkerchief 
over  a  gloved  little  finger,  was  removing  an 
excess  of  powder  from  the  delicate  crease  be- 
side her  nose.  Her  hand  was  absolutely  steady. 

"And  Mr.  Sabin  is  noticing,"  said  Mrs.  Bates. 
Her  voice  now  began  audibly  to  quiver.  "If  he 
wants  to  he  can  skin  that  little  upstart  whipper- 
snapper  alive.  Thinks  because  he  got  his  name 
in  the  papers  —  and  him  not  even  scorched.  A 
common,  coarse — "  Her  words  ran  into  an 

[123] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

' '  a-a-a ' '  of  disgust  and  she  bit  her  lip  as  though 
to  enforce  self  control. 

Now  Nellie's  voice  was  quivering  ever  so 
slightly. 

"And  we  are  especially  select  and  refined, 
aren't  we?" 

Self-control  deserted  Mrs.  Bates  with  a  rush. 

"Eleanor  Bates!"  she  exploded.  "I  could 
just  spank  you!  I  wish  you  were  little  enough 
so  I  could  switch  you.  That 's  the  manners  they 
taught  you  in  the  seminary,  is  it.  That's — " 

And  suddenly  anger  ran  into  action.  Nellie 
was  facing  her  now.  Mrs.  Bates,  with  a  sudden 
spring  amazingly  quick  for  a  woman  so  large, 
so  mature  and  so  tightly  laced,  laid  both 
hands  on  her  daughter's  shoulders  and  shook 
her  energetically.  Nellie  did  not  struggle 
against  this  violence.  She  yielded  to  it,  quite 
loose  of  body  and  inert.  Something  like  terror 
not  unmixed  with  shame  came  across  the  flushed 
countenance  of  Mrs.  Bates.  Her  last  violent 
shake  died  down  into  nothing;  she  dropped  her 
hands  from  Nellie's  shoulders;  she  noted  now 
that  her  daughter's  eyes  looked  at  her  steadily, 

[124] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

that  her  daughter's  face  was  as  expressionless 
as  the  moon. 

"I'm  sor  • — " 

Midway  on  the  syllable  the  other  emotion 
again  rose  within  Mrs.  Bates,  again  overflowed. 

1 1  Me,  grubbing  and  slaving  all  my  life  to  put 
you  where  you  belong — and  now — just  when — " 

She  checked  herself;  but  she  had  already  said 
too  much.  Nellie,  adjusting  a  hook  of  her 
bodice  which  had  shaken  loose  during  these 
proceedings,  spoke  in  a  perfectly  controlled 
voice. 

"I  thank  you  and  Mr.  Sabin  for  announcing 
your  plans,  though  it's  true  you've  already 
made  them  plain  enough." 

"Well,  if  I  have,"  said  Mrs.  Bates,  just  the 
suggestion  of  a  wail  weakening  her  tone,  * '  ain  't 
he  a  fine  man?  He's  got  the  sweetest  nature  I 
ever  knew. ' '  Her  tone  hardened  again.  ' '  That 
upstart  you're  having  your  low  flirtation  with 
ain't  good  enough  to  black  his  boots."  Mrs. 
Bates,  baffled,  irritated  to  madness  by  this  deep, 
steely  calm,  was  swinging  back  into  the  violent 
mood.  "If  you  don't  cancel  those  four  dances 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

I'll  see  that  Mr.  Sabin  does  something.     I'll 
see  — " 

"I'll  cancel  those  dances,"  responded  Nellie 
sweetly,  "but  if  I  do  I'll  cancel  all  Mr.  Sabin 's 
dances.  I  can  make  a  scene  too. ' ' 

Here  the  ladies'  battle  stopped  as  suddenly 
as  when  little  boys,  fighting  it  out  in  a  back  lot, 
are  interrupted  by  the  policeman.  For  the 
lively  "turn-turn"  of  the  band  and  the  quick 
rhythmic  shuffle  of  feet  which  they  had  been 
taking  in  subconsciously  all  the  time,  came  to 
an  end,  were  succeeded  by  a  roar  of  applause. 
As  it  died  away  it  let  in  the  sound  of  the  Little 
Casino  Band  breaking  into  the  strains  of  a 
schottish. 

' '  I  have  this  first  dance, ' '  said  Nellie. 

Mrs.  Bates  had  it  too  —  with  John  W.  Sabin, 
at  the  great  magnate's  special  request.  By 
common  unexpressed  consent,  therefore,  they 
both  turned  away.  But  as  they  crossed  the 
threshold  into  the  glare  and  blare  of  Masonic 
Hall,  Mrs.  Bates  delivered  her  last  shot.  Of  all 
the  mistakes  to  which  rage  and  irritation  had 
led  her  during  that  losing  battle  of  hers,  this 
was  perhaps  the  greatest. 

[126] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

"I'll  have  to  take  measures,"  she  said  in  a 
determined  and  superior  tone. 

"I  can  take  measures  myself,"  said  Nellie, 
still  sweetly. 

They  must  drop  this  subject;  for  now  they 
were  floating  cloudily,  in  the  midst  of  the  gath- 
ered silks  about  their  lips,  across  the  ballroom 
floor.  They  both  looked  especially  lovely,  what 
with  that  underlying  flush  so  vastly  becoming 
to  a  brunet  skin.  And  toward  them  were  skip- 
ping to  the  music  their  partners  for  this  dance 
— John  W.  Sabin  and  Sandy  McNutt. 

We  will  dance  for  a  moment  —  somewhat 
jerkily,  owing  to  the  stiffened  joints  of  the  mas- 
culine partner  —  with  John  W.  Sabin  and  Mrs. 
Bates.  The  schottish  is  a  lively  measure  for 
persons  in  their  forties.  Mrs.  Bates  made  a 
delicious  sighing  as  she  swept  round  the  hall, 
and  John  W.  frankly  emitted  puffs  and  grunts. 
But  still  Mrs.  Bates  was  a  born  dancer  and  as 
she  danced  she  planned. 

1 '  Do  you  know  anything  about  that  young  man 
who  carried  Old  Calamity  out  of  the  fire  last 
night?"  she  began  from  his  shoulder  . 

"Nope,"  said  John  W.    "Never  set  eyes  on 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

him  before.  Seems  a  well-set-up  kid.  I  notice 
the  boys  got  him  into  the  fire  department  right 
away. ' ' 

"He  appears  to  be  paying  a  great  deal  of 
attention  to  my  Nellie, ' '  said  Mrs.  Bates.  ' '  You 
know  how  a  mother  is. ' ' 

1 1  Yep,  you  're  sure  a  good  mother, ' '  said  John 
W.  Sabin. 

"I  can't  say  I  exactly  like  his  looks,"  pursued 
Mrs.  Bates,  "and  there's  always  a  chance  in  a 
mining  camp  that  a  man  you  don't  know  may  be 
a  rough  character. ' ' 

Mrs.  Bates  spoke  between  puffs  of  breath; 
emphatically  the  schottish  is  not  a  dance  for 
middle-aged  persons  suddenly  transplanted  to 
a  two-mile  altitude. 

"Well,  if  he  does  anything  rough  he'll  be 
chucked  out  on  his  ear,"  said  John  W.  Sabin. 
"Otherwise  girls  will  be  girls,  same  as  boys 
will  be  boys.  She  might  as  well  have  her  fling 
while  she 's  young. ' '  He  paused  to  grunt  for  one 
or  two  breaths.  "Say,"  he  remarked,  turning 
his  trail-sharpened  hawk's  eyes  down  on  the 
top  of  his  partner's  head  and  rapidly  changing 
the  subject,  "you've  got  great  hair!  You  don't 

[128] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

need  any  transformers  or  false  fronts,  do  you?" 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Bates,  "hair  runs  in  our 
family. ' ' 

Mrs.  Bates  spoke  absently.  She  had  been 
trying  to  work  on  his  jealousy,  to  goad  him  into 
eliminating  this  young,  disturbing  upstart  from 
the  scene.  Her  plan  of  action  did  not  seem  to  be 
working  well  at  all.  Swiftly  she  meditated 
other  plans,  like  declaring  that  Tommy  had  in- 
sulted her  daughter,  getting  him  put  out,  by  the 
power  of  John  W.  Sabin,  from  the  Firemen's 
Ball  and  from  Carbonado  Camp.  But  when  she 
considered  Nellie,  remembered  that  firm  "I  can 
take  measures,  too,"  she  ceased  to  entertain 
that  course.  By  the  time  the  schottish  had 
bobbed  itself  to  a  finish  Mrs.  Bates  realized  that 
things  must  stand  as  they  were  for  that  evening. 
When  she  got  Nellie  alone  she  would  take  her 
own  threatened  measures. 

With  one  last  boom  of  the  bass  drum  the 
dance  was  over.  John  W.  Sabin,  on  the  way 
back  from  the  floor,  regained  his  breath  and  his 
power  of  conversation. 

"I  always  like  a  lot  of  hair;  your  daughter's 
well  provided  too, ' '  he  remarked. 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

Now  it  is  the  third  dance  on  the  program  and 
the  second  waltz.  Tommy  —  with  Mrs.  Bates 
affecting  not  to  see  him  at  all  —  has  floated 
away  with  Nellie,  enjoying,  for  the  last  time 
this  evening,  the  sensations  of  a  rapid  tour 
through  heaven  to  the  music  of  golden  harps. 
For  as  they  reached  the  center  of  the  floor,  as 
Mrs.  Bates,  waltzing  with  Doc  Jones,  swung 
off  toward  a  corner  of  the  hall,  Nellie  took  one 
long  sad  look  up  into  Tommy's  eyes  and  said 
low  and  seriously : ' '  Do  you  know  that  I  may  not 
see  you  again  after  to-night?" 

"Why?"  he  asked,  so  loud  as  to  bring  a  little 
"Sh-h!"  to  her  lips;  and,  dancers  though  they 
both  were,  they  lost  step. 

1 1  Now  listen  carefully,  dearest, ' '  she  said.  ' '  I 
am  watched  all  the  time.  I  must  speak  low.  I 
am  to  marry  John  W.  Sabin  —  and  his  money!" 

"You  aren't  engaged,  are  you?"  He  spoke 
low,  but  his  burst  of  voice  was  sharp  with  agony. 

*  *  I  swear  to  you  I  am  not ! ' '  she  said. 

An  observer  would  have  been  struck  by  the 
contrast  between  the  expression  of  her  face, 
smiling  mild  conventional  pleasure  over 
Tommy's  shoulder,  and  the  tragedy  of  her 

[130] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

words  —  culled,  if  the  young  lady  must  be  be- 
trayed, from  much  surreptitious  seminary 
reading  of  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth  and 
Ouida. 

'  *  I  have  never  come  nearer  him  than  to  shake 
his  hand,"  she  went  on,  still  with  the  same 
expression  and  tone,  "but  it's  ajtl  arranged 
between  them.  And  just  now  —  my  —  she  — 
objected  to  you.  She  made  a  scene.  I  told  her 
I  would  dance  with  you  to-night,  but  I  know 
that  they  will  not  let  me  see  you  again." 

"But  I  must  see  you  again!"  he  said. 
' '  Always  —  every  day  —  always ! "  he  burst 
out,  weakly  repeating  himself  because  he  could 
not  find  language  that  would  express  all  that  he 
felt. 

"Always  and  forever,"  she  breathed  from 
the  nest  her  cheek  was  making  against  his 
shoulder. 

"  I  'm  going  to  marry  you !  I  don 't  care  what 
they  do ! "  said  he. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  word  "marry"  had 
been  mentioned  between  them;  he  realized  this 
as  he  spoke,  realized  too  that  it  had  always  been 
understood,  and  vaguely  wondered. 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

"If  we  do  it  —  it  will  have  to  be  quickly," 
she  said. 

That  same  observer  would  have  noticed  here 
that  her  expression  of  mild  conventional 
pleasure  changed  ever  so  slightly;  that  it  took 
on  a  shade  of  expectancy,  of  suspense. 

If  he  did  not  answer  it  was  because  a  rush  of 
emotions  and  ideas  choked  him.  From  it  all, 
as  a  great  flame  bursts  from  a  smoldering  fire, 
came  a  dazzling  plan  of  action.  It  was  an  idea 
so  bold  that  it  would  have  been  impossible  to 
the  Tommy  Coulter  of  a  week  ago,  doing  his 
day's  work  and  drawing  his  day's  rations  at  the 
Big  Hope  grubstake  above  Lone  Grave  Canon. 
It  might  not  have  been  possible  a  short  twenty- 
four  hours  ago.  But  now,  not  only  had  love 
touched  him  but  also  praise  of  valor.  Helped 
by  the  artistry  of  Solly  Watrous  and  the  soft 
appreciation  of  his  beloved,  he  had  persuaded 
himself  that  he  was  a  daredevil.  The  very  fact 
that  he  must  do  what  he  now  meant  to  do  for  the 
praise  or  blame  of  all  the  world  seemed  only  to 
stimulate  him.  So  he  was  silent,  his  feet  danc- 
ing mechanically  to  the  music;  and  she  for  her 
own  part  did  not  further  pursue  this  line  of 

[132] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

conversation,  but  only  murmured  now  and  then 
a  soft  love-word  as  one  who  talks  in  rapturous 
sleep.  The  last  long-drawn  note  of  the  music 
blended  with  applause ;  the  shouting  and  clatter 
seemed  to  awaken  them  both. 

"Leave  me  before  we  reach  mother,"  she 
said.  * '  Oh,  my  dearest,  it  will  be  so  long  to  that 
next  dance ! ' ' 

It  was  indeed  long  for  Tommy.  He  had 
failed  —  fortunately,  he  now  felt  —  to  get  any 
dances  except  those  four  he  had  taken  with 
Nellie.  Idly,  mechanically,  he  drifted  to  that 
corner  behind  the  evergreen  screen  where  Mike 
the  bartender  presided  over  the  punch  bowl. 
Mike  had  exceeded  his  instructions  and  smug- 
gled in  certain  wet  goods  even  more  potent. 
The  corner  was  growing  popular  with  firemen 
who  had  lost  out  in  the  scramble  for  dances  with 
the  ladies.  It  had  long  ago  become  far  too 
noisy,  so  that  its  babble  could  be  heard  even 
above  the  strenuous  pounding  and  tooting  of 
the  band.  Tommy  was  caught  instantly  in  the 
whirl  of  his  own  popularity,  hauled  to  the 
improvised  bar,  besought,  commanded  to 
have  a  drink  of  "man-size  stuff."  Keeping  his 

[133] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

head  he  took  only  a  glass  of  punch.  Sandy 
McNutt  asked  him  to  tell  the  story  of  the  rescue ; 
when  Tommy  blushed,  dodged  and  tried  to  edge 
away  he  enhanced  his  reputation  for  modesty; 
whereas  he  was  merely  troubled  with 
embarrassment  and  desire  to  be  alone.  The 
opportunity  presented  itself  a  few  moments 
later,  when  a  half  drunken  argument  started  as 
to  the  condition  of  Old  Calamity —  one  factor 
maintaining  that  the  old  horse  thief  was  as  good 
as  ever,  the  other  asserting  that  the  old  road 
agent  was  still  in  danger.  Everyone  joined  in. 
"Leave  it  to  Doc  Jones!"  said  someone,  and, 
in  the  midst  of  loud  calls  for  Doc  Jones,  Tommy 
slipped  away.  By  now  his  daring  had  evap- 
orated a  little;  he  was  in  that  second  stage  of 
determination  when  practical  obstacles  will 
insist  on  pushing  into  the  picture.  As  he 
crossed  the  hall  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Nellie, 
dancing  with  John  W.  Sabin  —  her  torso  drawn 
back,  his  figure  rolling  bearlike  in  the  measure 
of  a  polka.  And  determination  blazed  again. 
He  wandered  bareheaded  out  to  the  lights  and 
clamor  of  Main  Street ;  wandered  in  again  before 
the  polka  was  ended;  remained  outside  for 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

what  seemed  an  eternity,  entered  this  time  by 
the  back  way,  to  find  a  lancers  started,  and 
Nellie  dancing  with  Sandy  McNutt.  Again  his 
determination  blazed.  It  was  alternately 
dimming  and  brightening  all  the  eternal  twenty 
minutes  during  which  he  waited  for  that  second 
waltz;  but  at  each  increasing  rhythm  of  its 
fluctuations  it  burned  brighter. 

In  one  of  the  blazing  moods  he  collected  him- 
self long  enough  to  note  and  remember  the 
approaches  to  Masonic  Hall.  The  front  door 
opened  on  to  Main  Street  —  to  the  rush  of  its 
crowds,  the  sound  of  its  dance-hall  orchestras, 
its  clicking  stud-poker  chips,  its  whirring  rou- 
lette wheels,  its  lively,  optimistic  clamor.  The 
back  entrance  opened  from  an  anteroom  used 
customarily  in  the  mystic  ceremonies  of  the 
lodge,  but  to-night  serving  as  coat  room  for 
both  ladies  and  gentlemen.  Behind  it  lay  a  dark 
alley  leading  to  Galena  Avenue  —  for  all  its 
pretentious  name  a  wayf are  of  small  cabins  and 
shanties,  long  ago  dark  in  sleep.  Tommy  took 
a  little  excursion  down  Galena  Avenue  and 
returned  hurriedly  to  Masonic  Hall. 

The  second  waltz.    No  sooner  had  they  begun 

[135] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

dancing  than  decency  prompted  him  to  a  line 
of  inquiry  that  he  had  dodged  hitherto. 

"If  you  should  marry  me,"  he  said,  "you 
would  have  nothing.  I  'm  going  to  be  rich  some 
day.  I'm  poor  now.  I've  got  just  a  hundred 
and  forty  dollars  in  the  world. ' ' 

i  ( My  father  had  fifty  dollars  when  he  married 
my  mother,"  she  said.  "She's  always  talking 
about  how  she  slaved  for  him  in  those  early 
years  —  and  now  —  You  don 't  suppose  I  'd 
want  money,  do  you?  I'd  work  my  fingers  to 
the  bone!" 

"Then  listen!"  he  said.  "You're  going  to 
marry  me  to-night  —  if  we  can  get  away.  I 
know  how." 

He  stopped  now,  waiting  for  her  word  of 
refusal  or  of  assent.  She  did  not  speak  for  a 
moment.  Her  cheek  was  leaning  against  his 
shoulder,  and  he  could  see  no  more  than  her 
glittering  crown  of  black  hair,  which  radiated 
a  delicate  perfume. 

' i  Oh,  I  am  afraid ! ' '  she  whispered,  and  then : 
"Yes,  my  dearest,  and  as  soon  as  we  can!" 

He  had  intended  to  wait  an  opportunity  later 
in  the  evening  —  had  even  planned,  though 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

imperfectly,  how  to  create  a  diversion.  But  at 
this  instant  they  were  dancing  toward  that 
cloakroom  door.  It  drew  him,  as  by  a  power 
superior  to  his  will.  He  waltzed  her  to  the 
threshold,  stopped,  opened  the  door.  She  gave 
one  backward  glance.  Her  mother,  in  the 
embrace  of  Pat  Burke  —  a  close  dancer  —  was 
swinging  round  a  far  corner  of  the  hall.  Nellie 
did  not  look  back  again. 

The  door  closed  behind  her.  They  were  alone 
in  the  cloakroom,  where  overcoats,  mantles, 
shawls  and  sealskin  cloaks  covered  every  inch 
of  the  wall,  made  grotesque  heaps  on  every 
chair. 

1  'Do  you  know  where  your  wrap  is?"  he 
asked. 

1 '  There." 

If  he  hesitated  for  a  moment  now  it  was  not 
because  he  was  undecided  but  because  he  had 
something  more  to  say  to  her  and  was  not  sure 
how  she  would  take  it. 

"Do  you  want  to  leave  word  for  your  mother! 
I  guess  you'd  better — "  he  began. 

'  *  I  intended  to  do  that, ' '  she  said. 

She  began  scribbling  on  the  back  of  her  dance 

[137] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

program.  When  she  had  finished  she  stuffed  it 
into  the  pocket  of  her  mother's  sealskin  coat. 
She  looked  up  now.  Tommy  was  holding  her 
mantle  for  her.  Into  it  she  slipped;  she  seized 
her  hat,  too,  but  made  no  movement  to  put  it  on, 
for  he  had  opened  the  outer  door.  Through  it 
they  passed  together.  A  moment  later,  hand  in 
hand,  they  were  stumbling  along  the  rough  dark 
roadway  of  Galena  Avenue. 


CHAPTER  X 

JOHN  W.  SABIN,  in  his  capacity  of  first 
prominent  citizen  and  general  manager  for 
everything  in  Carbonado  Camp,  had  edited 
the  program  of  dances  at  the  Firemen's  Ball 
and  had  decreed  that  there  should  be  no  encores. 
"We'll  still  be  going  it  by  the  time  the  day 
shift  comes  on  if  we  let  'em  repeat,"  he  had 
said.  But  after  the  second  waltz  —  a  Strauss 
selection  and  a  specialty  of  the  Little  Casino  — 
the  demand  became  so  loud  and  insistent  as  to 
override  all  rules;  and  the  band  swung  into  a 
dreamy  encore. 

During  this  dance  Mrs.  Bates,  whenever  Pat 
Burke 's  close  hold  allowed,  was  darting  quick, 
nervous  glances  about  the  ballroom.  When  Pat 
Burke  bowed  her  to  her  own  corner  she  looked 
still  more  nervously  across  the  shifting  kaleido- 
scope made  by  black  coats,  red  shirts  and  light 
feminine  pinks,  blues  and  lavenders.  Gradually 
the  kaleidoscope  came  to  rest  and  its  colors 
massed  —  the  light  tints  along  the  wall,  the  red 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

and  black  in  the  corner  beside  Mike  the  bar- 
tender's punch. 

But  neither  Nellie  nor  Tommy  emerged.  Mrs. 
Bates  drew  a  mask  of  stately  indifference  over 
her  features,  to  hide  the  anxiety,  tempered  by 
pure  rage,  which  surged  within.  From  the 
group  about  the  punch  approached  John  W. 
Sabin,  his  hawk 's  face  illumined  by  good  humor. 
The  nervous  strain  of  that  evening  had 
sharpened  all  perceptions  and  memories  in  Mrs. 
Bates.  She  glanced  at  her  program.  The  next 
dance  was  the  Virginia  Reel;  Nellie  had  it,  she 
remembered,  with  John  W.  Sabin.  She  hesi- 
tated a  moment.  Mr.  Sabin  stopped  to  pass  a 
remark  to  Mrs.  Black.  That  gave  her  a  little 
time;  and  she  decided  not  to  wait  and  make 
excuses,  but  to  go  forthwith  on  the  hunt. 

Ever  since  that  quarrel  in  the  ladies'  room, 
she  realized  now,  she  had  been  afraid  of  her 
daughter's  mood  —  of  the  unsounded  depths  in 
that  nature  which  she  had  known  so  little 
during  the  past  ten  years,  and  of  what  those 
depths  might  bring  forth.  An  intuition  of  her 
disaster  stabbed  her  for  an  instant. 

But  the  thought  was  simply  too  dreadful  to 

[140] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

be  entertained.  She  put  it  back.  With  dignity, 
and  with  as  much  speed  as  she  dared  to  show  the 
critical  world  of  Carbonado  Camp,  she  floated 
in  the  midst  of  her  draperies  to  the  ladies '  room. 
Nellie  was  not  there. 

She  tried  the  front  entrance  in  the  angry 
expectation  that  she  might  interrupt  her 
daughter  and  that  young  man  in  a  tete-a-tete. 
A  group  of  firemen  were  rolling  cigarettes  and 
debating  loudly.  They  hushed  their  clamor  as 
she  came  among  them,  and  stared  at  her 
silently  and  respectfully  as  she  opened  the  door 
and  took  a  frigid  look  over  the  crowd  of  loafers 
and  the  activities  of  Main  Street  beyond.  Now, 
as  she  turned  back  toward  the  cloakroom  and 
traversed  the  hall,  she  was  walking  so  fast, 
spite  of  herself,  that  the  waiting  dancers  along 
the  wall  followed  her  with  their  looks. 

Fritz,  the  cloakroom  attendant  —  in  private 
life  porter  at  the  Arizona  House  —  had  been 
temporarily  absent  when  Tommy  and  Nellie 
made  their  hurried  entrance  and  exit  ten 
minutes  before.  Business  being  slack  for  him 
at  that  hour  of  the  night  he  had  taken  occasion 
to  slip  over  to  the  Pioneer  Saloon  for  a  drink. 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

Now  he  was  sitting  back  on  a  pile  of  coats, 
enjoying  a  smoke.  At  Mrs.  Bates'  sudden 
entrance  lie  sprang  up,  making  awkward  efforts 
to  conceal  his  pipe. 

Mrs.  Bates  took  one  long  breath  and  gathered 
her  forces  before  she  asked  in  a  sweetly  superior 
tone : ' l  Have  you  seen  anything  of  a  young  lady 
in  a  pink  dress  —  a  dark  young  lady?" 

"Your  daughter,  ma'am?"  inquired  Fritz. 

"Yes,  my  daughter,"  replied  Mrs.  Bates 
rather  haughtily. 

"No,  ma'am  —  haven't  seen  her,"  replied 
Fritz. 

"Not  this  whole  evening?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Bates  a  little  more  sharply. 

"No,  ma'am,"  said  Fritz.  Then  he  paused. 
"Did  see  a  couple  goin'  it  up  Galena  Avenue 
when  I  come  in  ten  minutes  or  so  back.  The 
girl  might  'a'  been  her." 

Had  Fritz  been  dowered  with  keen  and  subtle 
perceptions  he  would  have  read  a  whole  drama 
in  the  stiffening  of  Mrs.  Bates'  frame.  As  it 
was,  Fritz  spoke  again  with  the  same  polite  if 
stolid  indifference : 

"Guess  I  can  tell  whether  it  was  her  by  seem' 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

if  her  wrap 's  gone. ' '  He  pawed  over  a  pile  on 
a  chair.  "Yep.  Her  cloak  was  right  there, 
with  yours.  Yep.  It 's  gone.  It  was  her. ' ' 

Mrs.  Bates,  betraying  her  shock  only  by  a 
pallor  over  which  her  will  had  no  control,  looked 
down  on  the  pile.  John  had  pawed  her  own 
sealskin  coat  to  the  top.  From  its  pocket  stuck 
an  edge  of  white  paper,  which  had  certainly  not 
been  there  when  she  left  it.  Out  of  the  sudden 
shock  over  all  her  nerves  came  self-control 
again.  In  that  instant  she  formed  her  white  lie. 

"Very  well,"  she  said.  "That's  what  I 
wanted  to  know.  My  daughter  wasn't  feeling 
very  well  and  I  sent  her  home.  I  was  just 
seeing  if  she  had  gone."  Still  acting,  she 
turned  away,  turned  back  again.  "That's  my 
coat  there?  May  I  have  it?  I  want  to  look  for 
my  handkerchief." 

Her  hand  jerked  just  once  as  she  took  out  the 
dance  program,  made  a  pretense  of  looking 
through  the  pockets  of  the  sealskin  coat,  handed 
it  back,  turned  away.  At  the  door  she  stopped 
and  with  an  appearance  of  idle  curiosity, 
glanced  over  the  program.  Just  one  little  in- 
drawn "ah-h-h"  escaped  her  as  she  read: 

[143] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

''Dearest  Mother:  I  have  gone  away  with 
Tommy  Coulter  to  get  married.  The  other 
could  not  be.  I  know  you'll  forgive  me  when 
you  see  how  splendid  he  is.  I  love  you. 

NELLIE.  ' ' 

The  door  opened,  closed,  shut  out  the  view  of 
Mrs.  Bates  from  the  look,  now  frankly  curious, 
of  Fritz  the  porter.  "H'm!"  he  grunted  as  he 
sank  down  again  on  the  pile  of  coats  and 
resumed  his  pipe. 

The  cornet  of  Pop  Bacon  was  just  blaring  for 
attention  and  Doc  Jones  was  announcing  in  his 
carrying  voice  —  by  now  a  little  thickened 
through  the  ministration  of  Mike  the  bartender 
— ' '  Git  your  partners  for  the  Virginia  Reel. ' ' 

Couples  were  already  moving  out  on  the  floor. 
In  Mrs.  Bates'  own  corner  she  saw  the  black 
coats  and  gleaming  diamonds  of  John  W.  Sabin 
and  of  Willie  Tutweiler,  her  own  partner  for 
the  reel,  both  peering  about  the  hall.  As  she 
approached  them  Mrs.  Bates  permitted  her 
society  expression  to  be  tinged  by  a  little 
anxiety. 

"I'm  so  sorry,"  she  said  to  them  both 
equally.  "My  daughter  has  been  taken  sud- 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

denly  a  little  ill.    I've  had  her  sent  some.    I 
must  go  too.    I  know  you'll  excuse  us." 

"Can  I  do  anything?"  asked  Mr.  Tutweiler 
conventionally.  * '  Do  you  want  Doctor  Jones  1 ' ' 

"Oh,  no,  indeed,"  replied  Mrs.  Bates  some- 
what hurriedly.  "It's  nothing  serious  and  we 
know  exactly  what  to  do. ' ' 

Fortunately  Mr.  Tutweiler  withdrew,  mur- 
muring sympathy,  and  Mrs.  Bates  turned  to 
Mr.  Sabin. 

"I  want  to  see  you  alone  —  at  once!"  she 
said. 

Even  the  sharp  tone  of  her  voice  failed  to 
convey  to  the  somewhat  unimpressionable  Mr. 
Sabin  a  sense  of  calamity.  His  face  showed  a 
little  concern  as  he  replied:  "Don't  see  exactly 
how  we  can  get  alone  —  here. ' ' 

"The  cloakroom,"  said  Mrs.  Bates  briefly 
—  "if  we  can  get  rid  of  that  attendant. ' ' 

By  now  Doc  Jones  had  shouted  "Head  lady 
and  foot  gent  forward  and  back ! "  In  the  two 
mixed  sets,  which  included  all  the  ladies,  hands 
were  patting,  feet  clumping,  voices  humming 
with  the  orchestra  The  Arkansaw  Traveler. 
The  two  unmixed  sets,  composed  solely  of  fire- 

[HS] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

men  and  male  admirers,  were  much  more  lively, 
thanks  to  Mike  the  bartender.  In  the  nearest 
set  the  head  "lady,"  dancing  up  to  the  foot 
gent,  dug  him  a  playful  jolt  in  the  body;  the 
gent  countered  ungallantly  on  the  neck;  they 
squared  off  in  a  comedy  boxing  match.  In  the 
other  set  the  head  '  *  lady, ' '  who  sported  a  four- 
teen-inch  black  beard,  squeaked  ' '  Oh,  Mortimer, 
my  darling!"  and  leaped  into  the  embrace  of 
the  head  gent.  They  clinched.  Hugging  and 
rolling  like  bears  they  bumped  deliberately  into 
the  line  of  ' l  ladies, ' '  who  playfully  shoved  them 
back  into  place,  digging  their  ribs  the  mean- 
while. ' '  Oh,  you  horrid,  coarse  men ! ' '  squeaked 
the  "lady." 

But  with  all  this,  Mrs.  Bates,  making  for  the 
cloakroom  with  John  W.  Sabin  in  tow,  had  a 
feeling  that  she  was  being  watched,  that  the 
general  intelligence  had  suspected  a  crisis ;  and 
she  tried  to  hold  back  her  speed  as  she  crossed 
the  floor. 

Fritz  the  porter  had  resumed  his  smoke. 

"Here's  a  dollar,"  said  John  W.  Sabin  to 
Fritz.  ' l  Go  and  blow  yourself  to  a  drink.  No — 
wait  a  minute  —  don't  want  the  footpads  to 

[146] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

get  into  these  coats.    You  watch  outside  until  I 
tell  you  to  come  in.    No,  keep  the  dollar. ' ' 

In  the  interval  while  Fritz  was  taking  down 
his  hat  and  poking  to  the  door  Mrs.  Bates 
collected  her  thoughts  and  set  herself  in  her 
plan  of  action.  Straightway  she  threw  her  few 
low  cards  upon  the  table. 

* '  She 's  gone ! ' '  she  burst  out.  ' '  Nellie 's  gone. 
Eun  away  with  that  young  upstart.  Gone  to  be 
married !  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  I " 

A  life  passed  on  the  intermittent  verge  of 
eternity  had  schooled  John  W.  Sabin  into  deadly 
calm  and  swift  mental  action  during  crises. 
Whatever  emotion  was  agitating  him  within 
showed  only  in  a  change  of  complexion  to  a 
lighter  tan,  in  a  hard  closing  of  the  steel-trap 
mouth  under  his  great  mustache. 

' '  How  long  ago  I "  he  asked  practically. 

"Since  the  second  waltz  started,"  said  Mrs. 
Bates,  herself  brought  toward  calm  by  his 
attitude.  "They  were  seen  going  out  of  this 
door  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  ago  and  down  the 
street — that  fool  there  told  me. ' ' 

She  waved  her  hand  in  the  direction  taken  by 
the  absent  Fritz. 

[147] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

"How  do  you  know  it's  to  git  married?" 
asked  John  W.,  still  with  no  more  emotion  in 
his  voice  than  as  though  he  were  a  lawyer  cross- 
questioning  a  witness. 

"She  left  me  a  note,"  said  Mrs.  Bates.  "A 
note  saying  they  were  going  to  be  married. 
Stuck  it  in  the  pocket  of  my  coat. ' ' 

It  was  all  out  now;  and  so  suddenly  that  her 
will  was  taken  by  surprise,  there  burst  forth  a 
storm  of  tears.  She  sank  down  into  a  compara- 
tively unencumbered  chair;  dropped  her  face 
into  her  white  gloves  and  her  lace  handker- 
chief, which  were  suddenly  bedewed  with  tears 
like  linen  caught  out  in  a  thunderstorm.  She 
sobbed  lightly  but  tensely,  with  little  inarticu- 
late "oh's."  John  W.  Sabin  was  silent;  he 
merely  stood  looking  down  upon  her.  The 
hawk  glance  in  his  eyes  gradually  softened ;  the 
color  came  back  to  his  tan  cheeks,  became  a 
flush.  When  he  spoke  it  was  in  that  same  low 
voice,  the  syllables  clipped  as  sharply  as  pistol 
shots. 

"  It 's  awful  rough  on  you, ' '  he  said,  * '  but  you 
mustn  't  take  on  so.  We  Ve  got  to  do  something 
—  quick ! ' ' 

[148] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

*  *  What  —  can  —  we  —  do  ? "  breathed  Mrs. 
Bates  between  her  dying  sobs. 

John  W.  Sabin  did  not  answer  her  directly. 

"What  cloak  is  yours?"  he  asked.  " Better 
put  it  on  —  don 't  want  to  be  seen,  maybe,  in  a 
ball  gown." 

When  she  had  dabbed  away  the  last  drops  of 
her  clearing  storm  Mrs.  Bates  found  him 
holding  her  wrap  ready  for  her.  Mrs.  Bates,  in 
common  with  all  her  type,  had  the  gift  of  crying 
exquisitely  —  not  like  those  transparent  blondes 
whose  pink-and-blue  baby  eyes  simply  grow 
blobby  with  tears.  The  seriousness  of  her 
expression,  the  touch  of  carmine  coloring  in  her 
cheeks  and  about  her  eyelids,  rendered  her  only 
the  more  comely.  Now  John  W.  Sabin  was 
taking  down  his  own  overcoat  with  the  ostenta- 
tious fur. collar,  which  occupied  all  alone  a  nail 
of  honor.  Before  he  put  it  on,  Mrs.  Bates  saw 
him  reach  into  the  rigihthand  pocket,  which 
bulged  with  an  inn«r  weight,  and  glimpsed  the 
brown  wooden  butt  of  a  standard  forty-five 
caliber  side  arm. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed.  "Don't!  No  gun 
plays ! ' ' 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

"Sure  not,"  replied  John  W.,  "unless  some- 
body else  starts  it  first."  He  turned  on  her  a 
sharp  glance  of  inquiry.  "You'd  rather  I 
handled  this  matter  alone,  wouldn't  you?  Don't 
want  the  police  or  a  posse  or  anything!" 

"Heavens,  no!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bates. 

Without  another  word  John  W.  opened  the 
door.  With  no  word  on  her  part,  with  no  sure 
idea  whither  they  were  going,  Mrs.  Bates  pre- 
ceded him  into  the  night.  The  door  closed;  she 
stumbled  in  the  darkness. 

"Give  me  your  hand — no,  the  other,"  said 
John  W. 

He  took  her  right  hand,  which  was  quivering 
lightly,  into  his  left ;  his  own  right  hand,  had  she 
only  known  it,  was  clamped  on  the  butt  of  the 
revolver  in  his  pocket.  As  they  proceeded,  he 
seeming  to  thread  the  darkness  with  cat 's  eyes, 
she  sobbed  gently  now  and  then.  Once,  indeed, 
her  sobs  grew  audible,  threatening  a  new  storm, 
but  the  firm  pressure  of  his  hand  steadied  her 
and  the  sound  died  away  on  a  long  sigh.  They 
were  making  toward  a  single  light  outlining  a 
window  sash;  and  Mrs.  Bates  caught,  through 
the  fresh  scents  of  a  mountain  night,  the  smell 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

of  horses.  Then  he  spoke  in  his  sharp  clipped 
accents  of  a  man  of  action;  and  his  question 
seemed  at  first  unaccountably  far  from  the  sub- 
ject in  hand. 

"Say,"  he  said,  "is  your  daughter  a 
Catholic?" 

"Why,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Bates,  vaguely  wonder- 
ing through  all  her  anxiety  and  misery  what  this 
had  to  do  with  the  case. 

* '  Then  we  won 't  bother  Father  Casey, ' '  said 
John  W. 

Now  they  stood  opposite  a  big  blank  door, 
vaguely  outlined  by  the  side  beams  from  the 
window. 

"Hello,  inside!"  bawled  John  W.,  and  lis- 
tened. He  got  no  answer.  He  drew  his  gun  and 
smote  the  door  three  sharp  taps  with  the  barrel. 

"Who  is  it?"  said  a  voice,  so  near  and  dis- 
tinct as  to  prove  that  the  speaker  had  been  all 
the  time  behind  the  door. 

"John  W.  Sabin!" 

At  these  magic  words  came  a  rattle  of  metal. 
The  big  door  slid  back,  revealing  outlined 
against  the  oil  lamp  the  tousled  head  of  a  man 
in  his  shirt  sleeves. 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

"It's  me,  Bob,"  said  John  W.  "First  thing 
— have  you  let  a  team  in  the  last  half  hour  f ' ' 

"Why,  yes,  Mr.  Sabin,"  said  Bob.  "Not 
more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  back.  To  a 
young  fellow — he  came  here  a  spell  before  that 
and  asked  us  to  hitch  up — and  a  girl."  The 
blotched  outline  which  was  Bob's  head  turned 
toward  Mrs.  Bates,  whose  face  was  now  clear 
in  the  rays  of  the  lamplight. 

"This  lady's  daughter,  the  girl  was." 

This  rapid  identification  seemed  to  remind 
John  W.  Sabin  of  the  widespread  curiosity  in 
the  camp  concerning  the  Bates  women;  for  he 
shot  out:  "Thanks.  It's  all  right  to  tell  that  to 
me.  But  if  anybody  else  asks  you,  you  don't 
know  nothin' — you  or  Eddie,  either.  Get  that? 
You're  to  be  a  pair  of  graveyards  on  the  sub- 
jects of  the  events  and  incidents  of  this  evenin', 
now  and  subsequent.  Where 's  Eddie  ? ' ' 

' '  Just  turning  in.  Ed-die !  Mr.  Sabin  wants 
you ! ' ' 

"What  rig  did  you  give  'em?" 

"Single  rig — phaeton — and  that  little  buck- 
skin hoss." 

"No  speed — I've  drove  him,"  mused  John  W. 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

aloud ;  then  his  voice  took  on  its  sharp  shooting 
tone.  "Now  listen  hard.  Have  you  got  your 
riding  horse  saddled  as  usual?  All  right. 
Eddie's  to  hitch  up  my  bays  to  the  light  buck- 
board  as  quick  as  the  Lord  will  let  him.  You're 
to  jump  on  your  cayuse  and  rustle  round  to 
Parson  Brown  and  that  new  Methodist  preacher, 
whatever  his  name  is,  and  find  whether  they've 
married  anybody  this  evenin'.  If  you  find  'em 
marrying  that  special  and  particular  couple, 
stop  it — tell  'em  I  said  it  was  to  be  stopped." 

"How  about  Judge  Larrabee  and  Justice  of 
the  Peace  Smith?"  asked  Bob.  "They're  au- 
thorized  " 

"Now  don't  you  go  to  assumin'  nothin'  from 
my  few  brief  remarks,"  said  John  W.  "Judge 
Larrabee  and  Al  Smith  were  at  the  Firemen's 
Ball,  not  marrying  nobody  when  I  left  'em." 

They  were  interrupted  by  the  slouching  ap- 
pearance of  Eddie  with  a  lantern. 

"Git  my  bays  into  the  buckboard,  you — and 
quick!"  said  John  W.  "All  right,  Bob.  You 
ride.  Anybody  in  the  office  there?  No,  never 
mind,  I'll  tend  to  the  lamp." 

As  Bob  and  Eddie  turned  away,  John  W. 

[153] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

lighted  a  match,  illuminating  the  untidy  cubby- 
hole which  served  for  the  office  of  the  Elite 
Livery  and  Boarding  Stables.  Before  it  went 
out  he  had  brushed  the  loose  newspapers  from 
a  chair  and  seated  Mrs.  Bates. 

" Guess  you  won't  want  a  light,"  he  said. 
''There,  there — cry  it  out!  I'm  goin'  to  help 
Eddie  hitch  up." 

Three  minutes  later  the  bays  stood  harnessed 
and  stamping  impatiently  beside  the  open  slid- 
ing door.  The  side  lamps  on  the  buckboard  were 
both  lighted.  A  few  long  minutes  more,  and  the 
clatter  of  hoofs  announced  Bob's  return.  Mrs. 
Bates  rose  and  stood  clinging  to  the  door  frame 
in  the  darkness. 

"Well!"  came  the  voice  of  John  W.  Sabin. 

"No  weddin's  this  evening,"  said  Bob,  dis- 
mounting. "I  pounded  'em  both  out  of  bed." 

"Would  you  mind  gettin'  in?"  came  the  voice 
of  John  W. 

Though  darkness  hid  from  her  his  face,  Mrs. 
Bates  knew  that  the  request  was  meant  for  her. 
She  clambered  up  into  the  seat ;  John  W.  sprang 
up  beside  her;  Bob  and  Eddie  loosed  their  hold 

[154] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

on  the  bits  of  the  eager  bays ;  they  shot  out  into 
Galena  Avenue. 

1  *  Where  are  we  going?"  asked  Mrs.  Bates, 
who  had,  as  advised,  cried  a  good  deal  of  it  out, 
and  now  held  control  of  her  voice.  Up  to  that 
moment  she  had  yielded  herself  unquestionably 
to  the  commands  of  Mr.  Sabin. 

"I've  covered  everybody  who  could  perform 
a  marriage  in  this  here  camp,"  said  John  W. 
Sabin.  '  *  From  the  start  I  suspected  that  they  'd 
get  a  rig  and  go  to  Beantown. ' ' 

"Beantown?"  inquired  Mrs.  Bates. 

"Six  miles  over  toward  the  range,"  said 
John  W.  "Separate  township,  where  I  can't 
stop  anything.  McDougall,  who's  city  clerk 
and  J.  P.  there,  is  a  crook.  Always  filing  claims 
we  wouldn't  touch  with  a  ten-foot  pole.  And 
marryin'  people.  The  Harkness  case  got  all 
over  the  front  page  of  the  Clarion  last  week. 
Figure  that's  what  put  it  into  her  mind — her 
and  her  man." 

Mrs.  Bates,  through  the  confusion  of  the 
tangled  black  emotions  that  were  rising  up  in 
her  again,  found  space  to  marvel  that  Mr.  Sabin 
spoke  of  both  her  daughter  and  the  young  man 

[155] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

without  a  shade  of  asperity — just  as  substantial, 
impersonal  facts.  This  brought  to  mind  another 
aspect  of  her  misery — the  hopes  she  had  held 
for  her  daughter  —  now,  whatever  else  hap- 
pened, dashed  and  broken.  She  had  already 
partially  given  way  in  the  presence  of  Mr. 
Sabin,  which  made  it  easier  now  to  give  way 
completely.  Through  her  sobs  she  began  speak- 
ing wildly,  hysterically: 

"She  was  always  a  little  minx — never  could 
tell  what  she  was  thinking  about.  And  her 
Latin  and  her  French  and  her  music — in  a 
miner's  shanty!  And  I  worked  so  to  educate 
her — and  I  loved  her  so — oh-h ! ' ' 

John  W.,  master  reinsman  that  he  was,  held 
the  lines  gathered  expertly  in  his  left  hand.  He 
transferred  them  to  the  hand  which  held  the 
whip  and  dropped  a  touch,  heavy  yet  comfort- 
ing, though  not  in  the  least  familiar  or  assum- 
ing, upon  the  sealskin  shoulder  beside  him.  But 
he  said  nothing;  and  she,  too,  spoke  no  more, 
as  though  this  comforting  touch  were  a  com- 
mand to  silence.  The  storm  beat  itself  out, 
ended  at  last  in  a  long  sighing. 

They  were  clear  of  the  town  now,  and  thread- 

[156] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

ing  a  broken  mesa  whose  clumps  of  sagebrush 
showed  here  and  there  in  the  light  of  the  side 
lamps.  The  bays  had  settled  down  to  their  best, 
steadiest  stride.  Suddenly  the  hand  which  Mr. 
Sabin  had  rested  upon  the  shoulder  of  his  com- 
panion shot  to  the  reins,  pulled  them  violently 
inward  even  to  his  chest.  But  the  bays  needed 
no  pulling.  They  had  checked  themselves  so 
suddenly  that  the  dashboard  collided  with  their 
rumps ;  they  were  digging  in  their  toes  before  a 
newly-felled  tree,  which  showed  in  the  lamplight 
across  their  path. 

No  sooner  had  they  come  to  comparative  rest 
than  John  W.  shot  both  reins  to  his  left  hand, 
shot  his  right  to  the  butt  of  his  revolver.  There 
he  checked  himself.  The  presence  of  ladies  is 
always  inconvenient  in  a  purely  masculine 
affair. 

And,  as  he  expected,  from  behind  the  bushy 
branches  of  the  pine  tree  rose  a  hat  and  a 
bearskin  mask,  came  a  voice  saying  thickly, 
as  though  disguised:  " Hands  up!  You're 
covered ! ' ' 

"Put  up  your  hands,"  said  John  W.  to  Mrs. 

[157] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

Bates,  himself  setting  the  example.  "Them 
pesterin'  footpads!" 

' '  Line  up — there  on  the  road ! ' '  said  one  voice. 
* '  No  monkeyin '.  There 's  three  of  us ! " 

"Now  look  here,  boys,"  said  John  W.  Sabin, 
"I'm  out  on  a  matter  of  life-and-death  business. 
I've  got  about  a  thousand  dollars  gold  in  my 
jeans.  You  can  have  that.  I'll  chuck  it  to  you 
if  you  '11  let  me  put  my  hands  down.  You  ought 
to  know  I  wouldn  't  shoot,  with  a  lady  on  board. ' ' 

"Hell!"  came  the  voice  of  First  Footpad, 
registering  even  through  its  disguise  of  pebbles 
under  the  tongue  both  surprise  and  disgust. 
"Who  are  you?" 

"John  W.  Sabin,"  said  the  voice  from  the 
buckboard,  in  the  accents  with  which  royalty 
might  announce  ' '  The  King. ' ' 

"Sister  Anne  and  Simple  Simon!"  came  the 
thick  voice  of  First  Footpad ;  and  the  tone  im- 
plied a  disappointment  too  great  for  ordinary 
profanity.  Whispers,  mingled  now  and  then 
with  an  audible  oath,  proceeded  from  behind  the 
felled  pine  tree. 

Then  out  came  a  disguised  voice:  "All  right. 
Push  along.  We  ain't  robbin'  you." 

[158] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

" That's  right  good  of  you  boys,"  said  John 
W.  "Can  I  put  down  my  hands  to  get  these 
lines?  Thanks.  That's  right.  Just  pull  that 
tree  back.  Say ' ' — he  paused  with  the  reins  half 
gathered,  as  one  who  is  caught  by  a  new  idea — 
"if  I  chuck  you  fellers  a  handful  of  twenties 
will  you  go  home  peaceable  for  the  night  and 
leave  this  here  road  alone  ?  I  may  want  it  later, 
and  I  '11  be  in  a  hurry. ' ' 

"All  right!"  came  the  muttering  voice  of 
Second  Footpad,  who,  dimly  outlined  by  the 
starlight,  was  dragging  at  the  butt  of  the  tree, 
"Might  as  well  knock  off.  Been  a  night  of  hard 
luck." 

Mr.  Sabin  reached  to  his  trousers  pocket,  cast 
out  a  shower  which  glinted  in  the  side  lamps, 
which  made  a  jingling  on  the  roadway. 

"Oh,  say,  you  understand  I'm  forgettin'  this 
little  episode!  Get  up!"  he  clucked  to  the 
horses. 

But  Mrs.  Bates,  until  now  forgotten  in  this 
purely  masculine  affair,  spoke  from  the  seat 
beside  him. 

"Better  ask  them  if  they've  seen  Nellie!" 
Her  voice  was  perfectly  firm. 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

"Oh  sure!"  said  John  W.,  pulling  up  again. 
"Boys,  seen  anything  on  this  road  of  a  single 
rig  —  phaeton,  wall-eyed,  rat-tailed  buckskin 
horse,  couple  of  people  aboard  —  tall  man, 
young,  and  a  girl?" 

" ,  yes!"  said  the  disguised  voice 

of  Second  Footpad.  "Excuse  me,  lady.  .That 
was  the  first  streak  of  hard  luck  this  evenin'. 
Stuck  'em  up  not  five  minutes  ago,  and  got 
nothin '  but  drink  money. ' ' 

"How'd  that  happen?"  asked  John  W. 
casually. 

* '  He  couldn  't  make  no  gunplay  any  more  than 
you  could,  because  he  had  a  lady  aboard, ' '  said 
First  Footpad.  He  continued  volubly  though 
thickly,  as  one  glad  to  break  the  monotony  of 
a  lonely  calling  by  a  little  social  converse: 
"Females  always  was  my  bane  and  menace. 
The  girl  talked  us  out  of  takin'  anythin'  off 
him  but  a  little  tip  of  ten  dollars.  She  allowed 
they  was  just  married  and  needed  it  to  set  up 
housekeeping. ' ' 

"Married!"  The  one  word  shot  out  of  Mrs. 
Bates  before  she  could  control  herself. 

' '  Must  have  got  married  awful  sudden, ' '  said 

[160] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

John  W.,  still  affecting  a  casual,  gossipy  tone. 
' '  It 's  the  outfit  we  Ve  been  looking  for,  and  they 
weren  't  married  when  last  seen. ' ' 

"Yep,"  said  First  Footpad,  breaking  into  the 
conversation.  1 1  They  drawed  all  the  luck  that 's 
loose  to-night  in  this  neck  of  the  woods.  We 
didn't  git  none  of  it.  They  was  makin'  for 
Beantown  because  they  didn't  want  to  git 
hitched  in  Carbonado  for  some  reason  or  other. 
They  bumped  onto  Judge  McDougall  a-drivin' 
on  the  road.  He  got  right  down  and  hitched 
'em  on  the  spot.  The  little  girl  told  us  all  about 
it.  Burn  nice  girl.  The  young  feller's  drew  a 
prize  winner,  all  right. ' ' 

" Where 've  they  gone  now?"  asked  John  W. 

First  Footpad  let  a  laugh  bubble  through  the 
pebbles  under  his  tongue. 

1 '  That 's  the  joke  of  it ! "  said  he.  ' '  They  're  in 
the  funniest  fix  you  ever  did  see,  and  they  don 't 
give  a  durn,  as  I  figure  it,  on  account  of  love's 
young  dream.  For  some  reason  or  other  they're 
shy  on  Carbonado,  but  they're  afraid  if  he  holds 
out  that  bronco  he  hired  from  the  Elite  Stables 
he'll  bump  up  against  it  for  hoss  stealin'.  So 
they've  went  into  retirement  until  daybreak, 

[161] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

when  he  figures  he  can  hire  somebody  on  the 
road  to  drive  the  bronco  back.  Girl  told  us  all 
about  it  while  we  was  congratulatin '  and 
felicitatin'  'em.  Oh,  we  had  a  regular  party! 
Only  needed  oyster  stew  and  strawberry  ice 
cream  to  make  it  a  Friday  night  sociable." 

"But  where  are  they  holding  out?  asked  John 
W.  with  a  laugh  that  sounded  a  little  forced. 

"Said  they  was  goin'  to  them  abandoned 
cabins  of  the  Jennie  D.,  half  a  mile  up  the  side 
road  over  there,"  replied  First  Footpad. 

"All  right,"  said  John  W.  Sabin.  "Guess 
we  '11  go  and  congratulate  'em,  too.  Remember, 
boys,  nothin'  happened  to-night  far's  I'm  con- 
cerned— or  this  lady  either.  But  if  I  was  you 
I'd  scoop  up  those  twenties  out  there  in  the 
road  and  use  'em  to  buy  stage  fare  to  some  camp 
over  the  Divide.  You've  treated  me  decent,  so 
I  don't  mind  tellin'  you,  by  way  of  returning 
favors,  that  the  city  marshal  is  gettin'  all  ready 
for  a  general  roundup  of  the  hull  of  you.  Of 
course  if  there's  anythin'  like  lynchin',  I'll  say 
a  good  word  for  you,  but  I  wish  you  'd  save  me 
the  trouble.  Good  night.  Giddap." 

[162] 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  married  couple  of  an  hour  sat  just  in- 
side the  doorway  of  a  half-ruined  log 
cabin,  the  second  in  the  line  of  three 
which  marked  the  site  of  that  notorious  failure, 
the  Jennie  D.  Though  now  and  then  one  or  the 
other  stirred  to  kiss  or  to  murmur  rapturous 
nothings,  they  were  mostly  silent. 

The  truth  is  that  actuality  was  creeping  into 
the  dream,  as  actuality  will.  With  it  came  worry 
as  to  the  next  move.  Getting  a  job  to  support  a 
wife  had  seemed,  in  the  inspiration  of  action, 
like  nothing  at  all.  Now  it  seemed  a  very  great 
something.  Carbonado  was  impracticable  on 
account  of  the  baronlike  power  swayed  by  the 
great  and  offended  John  W.  The  best  chance 
was  Cottonwood  Camp.  Tommy  was  not  sure 
about  the  fare  to  Cottonwood.  It  would  cer- 
tainly make  a  big  hole  in  the  hundred  and  twenty 
dollars  that  remained  after  paying  Judge  Mc- 
Dougall  's  fee  and  tipping  the  footpads. 

To  Nellie,  actuality  brought  thoughts  more 
[163] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

distributing  to  the  emotions.  The  face  of  her 
mother,  reading  that  note,  would  glance  in  and 
out  of  her  mental  vision.  At  one  instant  she 
felt  like  a  very  little  girl  who  wants  to  tell  her 
mother  she  is  sorry,  to  be  cuddled  and  caressed. 
To  blot  the  picture  and  down  the  thought  she 
began  speaking;  and  she,  too,  he  noted,  was 
running  on  the  subject  of  her  dress. 

"Most  girls,"  she  said,  forcing  a  little  laugh, 
"want  to  get  married  in  a  white  silk  dress  with 
a  veil  and  orange  blossoms  and  lots  of  cut 
flowers  and  ushers  and  bridesmaids  and  a  wed- 
ding reception.  I  never  did.  What  I  really 
wanted  to  do  was  to  elope,  but  I  felt  I  didn't 
care  how  I  married  so  long  as  I  loved  the  man. 
But  see — I  have  been  married  in  a  fine  silk  dress 
and  white  gloves,  and  my  columbine  boy  was  all 
the  flowers  I  wanted.  And  I  did  have  a  wedding 
reception — those  robbers ! ' ' 

Now  her  laugh  was  genuine. 

"Sort  of  chivaree.    Sort  of " 

He  stopped  suddenly  on  the  word;  and  the 
stiffening  of  his  frame  warned  her  also  into 
silence.  Footsteps,  cautious  and  muffled  yet  dis- 
tinct, sounded  from  the  trail  below  the  first 

[164] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

cabin.  He  was  instantly  on  his  feet,  but 
crouching. 

"Get  back  in  there — as  far  back  as  you  can 
get — and  keep  low,"  he  commanded  master- 
fully. 

He  followed  her;  but  he  stopped  just  inside 
the  darkness  beside  the  open  door.  Looking 
back  over  her  shoulder  as  she  tiptoed,  she  could 
see  in  the  starlight  that  he  was  crouching;  and 
she  heard  a  sharp  metallic  click.  Silence  for  a 
moment ;  then  the  footsteps  again.  They  seemed 
now  to  have  reached  the  ruins  of  the  first  cabin. 
Tommy's  voice  came  out  so  suddenly  and  clearly 
that  she  started  and  cowered  for  an  instant 
against  the  wall. 

*  *  Halt !  Who  are  you  ?  I  've  got  you  covered ! ' ' 

The  footsteps  ceased ;  for  perhaps  ten  seconds 
the  silence  was  again  absolute.  Then  spoke  a 
voice  which  she  recognized  instantly  as  that  of 
John  W.  Sabin. 

"If  you're  the  young  feller  that's  jest  eloped 
with  Miss  Bates,  I  wouldn't  make  no  gun  plays. 
You're  likely  to  hit  your  mother-in-law.  If 
you're  anybody  else,  lemme  call  your  attention 
to  the  fact  and  circumstances  that  the  barrel 

[165] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

of  your  gat  ain't  browned,  and  I've  got  it 
spotted.  And  also  covered.  Avoid  nickel  plate 
on  gun  barrels.  No,  don't  move  it — steady  now. 
I  like  to  know  jest  where  you  are !" 

"It's  Mr.  Sabin!"  whispered  Nellie  from  the 
shadows.  "Don't  shoot,"  she  called  aloud. 
"It's  us,  mother — and  we're  married." 

A  feminine  voice  with  a  wail  in  it  came  out 
of  the  darkness  behind  the  ruins:  "Yes,  go  on 
and  shoot.  Do !  After  what  you  Ve  done  to  me 
to-night — " 

Nellie  had  crossed  the  dark  floor  to  her  new 
husband's  side  before  she  interrupted:  "Now, 
mother,  don 't  blame  this  on  Tommy.  He  knows 
as  well  as  I  do  that  I  got  him  to  do  it. ' ' 

"That's  not  so,"  interrupted  Tommy  in  his 
turn.  "I'm  responsible." 

"I  believe  you,"  said  Mrs.  Bates,  entirely 
ignoring  the  interruption  of  her  son-in-law.  ' '  I 
believe  you  —  I  think  you'd  be  capable  of  any- 
thing. After  all  I've  done  to  make  you  a  lady! 
Didn't  I  always  know  just  how  sly  you  were? 
Didn  't  I  —  "  Her  voice  choked. 

"Mother,"  said  Nellie,  perfectly  calmly, 
"when  you  think  it  over  you're  going  to  see  it 

[166] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

was  the  only  way.  Mr.  Sabin,  she  brought  me 
up  here  to  marry  you  —  because  you  were  rich. 
And,  Mr.  Sabin,  I  didn  't  want  to  marry  you.  I 
wanted  to  marry  Tommy  from  the  first  minute 
I  saw  him.  I  have  married  him.  And  I  'm  going 
away  to  make  a  start  with  him  if  I  have  to  work 
my  fingers  to  the  bone. ' ' 

She  let  her  hand  flutter  to  the  shoulder  of 
Tommy,  still  holding  his  cocked  revolver 
trained  in  a  general  way  on  the  darkness — being 
still  uncertain  as  to  the  consequences  of  taking 
it  away. 

"Him!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bates.  "Him!  A 
nobody  from  nowhere  that  you've  only  known 
four  days.  Came  and  sneaked  you  from  me. 
Didn't  have  the  manhood — " 

That's  enough,  mother!"  cut  in  Nellie. 

"And  Mr.  Sabin  —  the  finest  man  I  ever  knew 
-Oh,  if  you'd  been  with  me  to-night  you'd 
know  what  a  nature  he's  got!" 

"I'm  certain  he  is  a  fine  man,"  Nellie  said; 
"and  if  you  feel  that  way  about  it,  why  don't 
you  marry  him  yourself?" 

A  blank,  dead  silence  followed.  It  was  broken 
first  by  the  slight  rustle  made  by  Tommy  as  he 

[167] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

rose  from  his  uncomfortable  position  and  gently 
let  down  the  hammer  of  his  revolver.  Nellie 
touched  him  in  the  darkness.  His  free  hand 
went  round  her.  He  started  to  say  something, 
but  she  stopped  him  with  a  "Sh-h-h,"  and  her 
hand  felt  for  his  mouth. 

Absolute  silence  again;  then  a  smothered 
colloquy  from  the  ruins  of  the  first  cabin;  then 
John  W.  Sabin 's  positive  voice  slashed  the 
darkness:  "Well,  I've  just  asked  her!" 

Nellie,  from  her  nest  in  her  husband's  free 
arm,  gave  a  little  shake  of  delight. 

1  'What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it,  mother  ? ' ' 
she  asked. 

It  was  John  W.  Sabin  who  answered : 

' '  She  says  she  won 't.  She 's  got  a  fool  notion 
that  if  she  takes  me  now  I  '11  think  she 's  taking 
me  for  my  money. ' ' 

"Now,  Mr.  Sabin,"  said  Nellie,  "I  know 
mother  like  a  book.  She 's  been  just  crazy  about 
you  from  the  minute  she  met  you.  I  suppose 
there's  where  I  get  this  habit  of  love  at  first 
sight."  This  last  was  partly  for  Tommy's 
benefit,  and  Nellie  punctuated  her  words  by  a 
soft  pat  on  his  cheek.  "Only  she's  always 

[168] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

wanted  me  to  marry  well  —  mother's  been  a 
perfect  dandy  to  me  —  and  she  just  wouldn't 
entertain  the  idea.  She's  been  talking  about 
you  night  and  day —  and  it  wasn't  for  my 
benefit,  either.  She  was  just  keeping  the  idea 
back  —  weren't  you,  mother?  —  because  she 
wanted  me  to  be  happy  —  and  she  thought  any- 
body must  be  happy  married  to  you.  Of  course, 
there  was  the  money,  too  —  she  wanted  me  to 
have  money.  Mother  and  I  quarreled  this  even- 
ing and  I've  treated  her  dreadfully.  But,  Mr. 
Sabin,  she's  the  most  perfect  dear!" 

Nellie  paused,  as  if  to  judge  the  effect  of  her 
words.  Only  silence  for  a  moment. 

4 'Ask  her  if  she  wouldn't  take  you  this  very 
moment  if  you  were  as  poor  as  we  are!"  said 
Nellie. 

Again  she  listened.  At  first  only  silence,  so 
that  the  sound  of  a  distant  catamount  complain- 
ing of  the  night,  the  ripple  of  Bear  Creek,  the 
gentle  rustling  of  dwarf-pine  branches,  came 
almost  painfully  loud.  Then  the  murmuring 
voices  down  in  the  shadows  of  the  first  cabin 
began  again,  and  Nellie  gave  another  eager, 

[169] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

exultant  squirm  against  the  shoulder  of  the 
waiting  Tommy. 

And  suddenly  came  the  voice  of  John  W. 
Sabin,  not  with  its  customary  firm  attack,  but 
much  more  softly. 

"Young  feller,  when  that  there  Judge  Mc- 
Dougall  stopped  to  marry  you"  —  on  these 
words  both  the  lovers  gave  a  start  of  surprise 
—  "was  he  makin'  for  Carbonado  or  Bean- 
town!" 

"Going  home  to  Beantown,"  said  Tommy; 
and  realized  that  he  had  hitherto  been  very 
much  out  of  the  conversation. 

"All  right,"  said  John  W.  Sabin.  "Say, 
daughter-in-law,  tell  your  man  to  hitch  up  that 
wall-eyed  buckskin  and  drive  you  back  to 
Carbonado.  We'll  meet  you  at  the  Maison 
Eiche  in  an  hour  —  for  the  weddin '  supper. ' ' 

Down  the  dark  trail  went  Mr.  Sabin  and  Mrs. 
Bates.  The  lovers  within  the  second  cabin 
wisely  said  nothing  more,  but  only  embraced 
each  other  in  the  darkness,  listening  to  the  soft 
murmur  of  conversation,  to  the  rustling  foot- 
steps, to  more  low,  inaudible  conversation, 
which  like  the  footsteps  died  gradually  into 

[170] 


COLUMBINE  TIME 

nothing.      Only    one    thing    did    they    hear 
distinctly. 

It  came  toward  the  last,  in  the  voice  of  Mrs. 
Bates:  "Well,  I  declare  —  that  child  has  had 
her  way  with  me  again!" 


(THE  END) 


A     000040412     9 


